In the Line of Duty
by Closet Scrawler
Summary: A collection of introspective one-shots devoted to the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise. -Not Slash. Listed as complete because, at any given moment, it is.-
1. In the Line of Duty

_**Summary:**__ An unsung member of the Enterprise 'family' takes a licking and keeps on ticking._

**Author's Note:** This shall become home to all my future Star Trek one-shots and drabbles, as well as most of the currently existing ones.

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**=(^)= In the Line of Duty =(^)=

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**

Doctor McCoy knelt on the ground, and hovered his medical device over the smoking remains. "Well, Jim," he said grimly. "I'm a doctor, not a mechanic, but I think it's safe to say it's dead."

"Isn't there any hope at all, Spock?" Kirk asked with a real note of concern in his voice.

Spock stood stiffly to one side and the captain glanced at him with undisguised sympathy that was embarrassing. "Captain, I assure you, it would be far simpler to replace it."

McCoy tentatively laid a finger on the charred metal. When it proved cool enough to touch, he picked it up and looked up at Spock with a frown. "But this wasn't just _any_ tricorder, Spock." He gave it a little shake for emphasis. "It was _your_ tricorder." He got to his feet with a grunt of effort, and dusted off his knees with one hand while holding the machine out to Spock with the other.

The Vulcan clasped his hands calmly behind his back. "I am aware of the human tendency to personify and become emotionally attached to inanimate objects. But I am content to use any of the tricorders available on the Enterprise – all of which, I might add, are the property of Starfleet."

McCoy snorted. "That's why you always choose the same one?" he asked, unable to refrain from teasing him. Spock blinked. "What," McCoy added, raising his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Did you think all the away teams ignored that one on accident?"

Kirk took the tricorder from McCoy, giving him a mock glare to stand down, and did not miss Spock's gaze follow the machine from one set of hands to the other. He looked up at his first officer, who stiffened his spine to an even more ramrod straight posture. Spock chose not to reply. Kirk sighed and squinted against the wind that was blowing grit into his eyes. "Well, we can't leave it here where it might be found by the natives." Kirk pulled out his communicator and hailed the Enterprise, and that was the last that was heard of the incident.

Sixteen days later the Enterprise established orbit around a small watery planet. The away team that had been assembled gathered in the transporter room, with the chief engineer himself manning the console to see them off. The crew collected their equipment from the supply locker, then began taking their places on the pads.

Spock found himself staring. It was nestled in its accustomed place at the end of the row of tricorders as though it belonged there. It had been scrubbed clean, but the metal was darkened by heat. No attempt had been made to remove the several small dents and scratches it had acquired over time. It was unmistakably the very tricorder that had seen many additions and alterations over its years of service. Spock hesitated a moment, then looked over his shoulder. The entire landing party stood on the transporter pads, obviously fighting back smiles and looking anywhere but at him. McCoy, in particular, appeared entirely too pleased with himself. Spock looked at Mister Scott, behind the controls. The engineer winked, and looked down at his console to make an adjustment.

But no one said anything.

Spock knew that choosing the mended tricorder would only inflate the value his human companions believed he placed on it, but there was no logic in selecting an inferior machine. Spock calmly pulled the tricorder from the locker, and slipped the strap over his shoulder as he took his place next to the captain on the transporter pad.

Kirk was the only person in the room who looked directly at him, a wide, unashamed grin radiating from his face. Then he turned away and gave the order to energize.

**=(^)=**


	2. I Have Tried, Captain

_**Summary:** Kirk attempts to learn the Vulcan nerve pinch._

**Historian's Note:** Takes place shortly after 'Catspaw', with reference to 'The Return of the Archons'.

**Author's Note:** I realize this is an over-used prompt, but I couldn't resist adding my own two cents worth.

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**=(^)= "I have tried, Captain." =(^)=

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**

"Check," Spock said, placing a rook onto a tile on the third tier. He folded his hands in his lap and studied his opponent.

Kirk was staring into the depths of a ceramic mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, and Spock was not certain if his last statement had been heard. His captain's mind was obviously elsewhere. He had made several tactical errors that Spock knew were not some carefully hidden plan of attack, and he did not give his moves much time for consideration. Spock, conversely, had been taking more and more time between turns. Not because he needed to give thought to strategy – for he could not fail to win at this point – but because he knew it would be wise to draw out the game. Kirk seemed to want the company in spite of his somber mood, which implied a need to discuss something. His reluctance to speak implied this would be of an emotional nature.

There had been a time when such a purely human need would have made Spock uncomfortable.

Spock watched his captain with serene patience as Kirk's attention shifted from his cup to the board in a pretense of studying it. Sometimes a simple query would be enough to prompt Kirk to discuss what was on his mind, but Spock knew this was not one of those times. He once again considered the most recent mission, but could think of nothing that might explain his captain's state of mind. They had lost a crewman, and this always grieved Kirk, but did not usually result in such a prolonged state of morose contemplation.

And so Spock waited. He watched as his captain escaped the threat to his king, turning it into a poorly executed pincer move. This was their second match of the evening, and Spock was willing to sit quietly through as many dull, unchallenging games as necessary. Spock waited another full minute before making his counter move, neatly cutting off a prong of the pincer by capturing an undefended bishop.

Kirk glanced up at him, giving him an almost apologetic smile that seemed at odds with the general air of unhappiness surrounding the human, before looking back at the game. The tiny smile instantly faded, and Spock wished suddenly that Kirk would speak up and end his self-imposed misery. He knew from experience, however, that Kirk could not be rushed with such things.

Kirk was, in his own way, possessed of a duality not dissimilar to Spock's own. There was a savage, barbaric streak within Kirk that had to be ruthlessly controlled at all times. But Kirk did more than that. He _used_ it, bent it to his will for constructive purpose. This was tempered by his softer side and Kirk openly enjoyed poetry, or the beauty of a flower. Kirk did not have perfect control, and it did sometimes happen that one side or the other took over with inappropriate timing. The captain of the Enterprise was prone to bouts of self-doubt and self-recrimination, and McCoy had assured Spock that this was normal, even healthy. Kirk needed his friends during such times, and Spock no longer felt shame to be counted among that number. For the most part, however, Kirk maintained a balance.

It was a balance that Spock envied.

It was unpleasant to think of it, but under the right conditions his captain could just as easily have been a ruthless conqueror. Or a criminal mastermind. Spock knew that a very troubled, embittered Kirk had gotten into some difficulty with the law as a youth following the horrific events on Tarsus. He had required assistance to be accepted into Starfleet Academy, despite a phenomenal score on aptitude tests. Kirk had an interest in the penal system that was peculiar for a man of such moral integrity if one did not realize that Kirk himself was well aware of what could have been. If circumstances had encouraged him to submerge his gentler nature, it was unthinkable to consider what his captain might be capable of.

Spock viewed Tarsus as a crucible, and it was distressing to think what the universe would be like if Kirk had died there, or if he had not recovered his faith in humanity. Spock's hands tightened around each other in his lap and his mind shied away from the thought.

The tiny motion seemed to shake Kirk out of whatever thoughts were consuming him. "I need you to teach me that nerve pinch," he said abruptly.

Spock blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. Kirk had occasionally expressed an interest in the technique, but nothing overt. As barbaric as it was, Kirk admitted to enjoying a brawl. This was something that Spock had simply come to accept as one of his captain's less admirable qualities, a concession to the animal within that Kirk needed in order to be the exceptional leader that he was. Both McCoy and Kirk were aware of the Vulcan's distaste for the traditional use of fists in combat, and the nerve pinch had become something of an inside joke between the three of them.

A whisper from his human half told him that something far more troubling was lying just under the surface of the statement. Spock had learned that sometimes it was wise to listen to that part of him which he usually ignored, especially when it came to his captain. Spock laced his fingers together across his chest and leaned back in his seat. "What has prompted this sudden interest?" he asked cautiously.

Kirk gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I've been suggesting it for a while, Spock," he said with deceptive casualty. The tense set of his shoulders gave him away, however, and Spock narrowed his eyes at the attempted deceit. Kirk had the grace to look guilty. "I had to hit him," he blurted suddenly, and made an angry gesture that caught a corner of the chess board. He cursed as the assembly was jolted on the desk and several pieces spilled off of their tiles.

Spock steepled his index fingers in contemplation as Kirk quickly moved to retrieve them before they could roll away. Spock tried to place the statement into the context of recent events, and realized the captain was referring to McCoy. Whatever primitive pleasure Kirk derived from combat, this did not extend to striking innocents. Particularly his own crew, and certainly not close friends.

"I do not believe either McCoy or Sulu harbor any resentment towards you, Captain," he said as Kirk placed the last piece back on the board.

Kirk was shaking his head by the time Spock finished the sentence, and pushed the game aside to rest his elbows on the desk in its place. He wrapped the fingers of one hand around a closed fist and pressed them to his mouth. "I didn't hit him hard enough, Spock – I couldn't. If you hadn't shown up when you did…"

His voice trailed off into silence, and Spock glanced down at the top of the desk. The memory surfaced with perfect clarity, an image of Kirk staring sadly at the crumbled form of Sulu while McCoy snuck up behind him with an improvised club. Spock suppressed a mental wince at his own highly emotional cry of warning when he had seen that his captain was unaware of the danger. Spock looked back up as Kirk sighed.

"I had dismissed him as a threat. I know my training, Spock. He shouldn't have been able to get back up. That's the second time. I hesitated the first time, too – a few seconds difference and we wouldn't have been ready for the lawgivers. But…" Kirk made an open-handed gesture of helplessness before clapping them around each other again. "There's just something… _wrong_ about hitting Bones."

Spock recalled the first such instance in which Kirk had been forced to incapacitate the doctor. His captain's softly whispered apology and expression of pained regret had struck something deep within Spock, and he had ruthlessly suppressed a rush of savage fury at whomever or whatever Landru was. Moments later, some of that fury had escaped his control and he had actually struck one of their captors in a rare display of physical violence.

"Who knows how many more times?" Kirk continued. "I _know_ I can't take you on in hand to hand combat, Spock. Not for long. What if some day I have to? I don't think…" Kirk bowed his neck to rest his forehead on his hands and did not finish the thought aloud.

Much to Spock's shame, he had attacked his captain on more than one occasion. Kirk had deliberately provoked him, and it had been necessary, but Spock would never be able to erase the memory of having harmed him. Spock frowned slightly. It would appear that his greatest lapses of control were always directly related to the presence of his captain. That was a thought that he would have to meditate on later.

It was a fact that, without the aid of weapons or medical tools, there was no safe way knock out an opponent by means of physical force without risking serious injury. "You would likely have to kill me in that event," he replied calmly, and watched with dismay as Kirk's expression froze into a blank mask.

Kirk made no declarations that he could not do something so drastic, for when it came right down to it Kirk had the ability to suppress any and all emotions with a severity that any full blooded Vulcan would envy. They both knew that Kirk could and would do whatever was necessary when it came to the safety of the Enterprise. _Had_ done, for Kirk had been forced to kill Mitchell with his own hands. A cold weight settled into Spock's stomach at the thought of what such an action would cost his captain, his friend. The coldness spread to envelop his chest at the thought that, if the ship was somehow not endangered, Jim might not find it within himself to survive at such a cost.

"'Compassion and command are a fool's mixture'," Kirk quoted softly, his thoughts obviously traveling a similar path as Spock's. He lifted his chin suddenly, his gaze determined. "You'll pardon me if I'd prefer an alternative."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I, too, would find an alternative preferable to being killed," he said with deliberate levity and was relieved when a slow smile replaced the open anxiety being displayed by his captain.

"So you'll teach me?" Kirk asked hopefully. "It's not some Vulcan taboo or something?"

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Even if it was, there was never any question that I would make the attempt," he chided softly. He sighed, for he truly regretted the reality of the situation. "However, I do not think it is possible."

Kirk frowned, mildly insulted. "Why couldn't I learn?"

"It is not simply a matter of applying correct pressure," Spock began, then paused in order to think how to explain.

"Show me," Kirk suggested.

"Most humanoid races have a cluster of nerve endings at the join between shoulder and neck," Spock began as he got to his feet. At a slight gesture, Kirk rose to stand in front of him. Spock lightly rested his fingers on the point in question, and Kirk angled his head down in curiosity. "Energy channeled through those nerves will usually induce a shock to the brain." He sent a tiny pulse to the tips of his fingers, and Kirk blinked in surprise. "Enough energy, coupled with pressure against the nerve bundle, is sufficient to render the target unconscious." Spock squeezed, applying the barest minimum of pressure, and increased the energy burst.

Kirk staggered forward a step, and Spock braced him until he regained his balance.

Spock released him and dropped his hands to his sides. "The location of the nerve bundle, the amount of pressure applied, and the degree of energy needed varies by species and by individual," he added as his captain gently rubbed at his neck.

"So it's basically like a stun blast from a phaser?" Kirk asked.

Spock nodded. "A phaser disrupts all the nerve cells within a body regardless of where it strikes, resulting in unconsciousness. The source of the energy is immaterial, but humanoid brains are generally incapable of generating the amount that a phaser uses. Targeting the specific nerve bundle has the same effect, however."

Kirk smiled at him. "That sounds like it takes a lot of practice," he commented ruefully.

Spock moved his shoulders slightly in a very small shrug of dismissal. "A certain inherent ability makes the task easier for some."

Kirk's smile widened. "I've seen you take out a lot of people with that, Spock, some of them barely humanoid. You make it look easy."

Spock dropped his gaze to the floor, unaccountably pleased by the compliment. He wasn't certain if an aptitude for rendering sentient beings unconscious was a skill Surak would applaud, but it was better than a blow to the head to achieve the same results.

"So, I assume the mental part is what I'm going to have trouble with?" Kirk asked.

Spock looked up, tilting his head. "What is your psi ability?"

"None that I know of," Kirk answered with a somewhat depreciating sigh.

Spock had not expected a different answer, for most humans did not physically have the ability to perform the nerve pinch. There were connections between the hand and the brain – nerve endings that transmitted information in the form of touch. The same nerves translated commands from the brain into actions. Very few humans, however, had the ability to channel energy through those nerve endings. Those few who did were also possessed of at least latent psi abilities.

Still, it would be wise to make certain, for this particular human had a habit of doing things that were improbable. He held up his right hand at chest height, wrist bent so that his fingers were pointed towards the ceiling. "Place your hand against mine," he instructed.

Kirk's skin was cool against his as he pressed their palms together. It was an intimate touch, by Vulcan standards, but Spock could think of no practical alternative. His hands were the most sensitive tool at his disposal, and he needed to make certain that he did not miss even the slightest hint. Any ability, any at all, could be trained and strengthened into something useful. Spock was more than willing to spend however much time was necessary to ensure that training, if it was possible.

"Concentrate on your fingers," Spock said. "Imagine that you are pushing against my hand, but do not use muscles."

Kirk obeyed, shifting position slightly so that he could look at their hands more clearly. His eyes narrowed in concentration and his fingers twitched, but there was no other physical indication of his effort. Spock could already feel his captain's curiosity and determination trickling through the contact. He did not know what it was about this human that granted him the ability to slip past Spock's formidable shields with no effort at all on his part.

Kirk glanced up at him briefly, and Spock gave a small shake of his head. Kirk frowned and Spock set about lowering his shields. A sense of frustration was sinking into Spock's mind from Kirk's, an unpleasant sensation. Spock ignored it and dropped his shields to absolutely nothing, closing his eyes as he focused on the impulses his hand was receiving. It was one step shy of a meld, and it was actually more difficult to keep his shields _down_ than up.

Removing his shielding was far more uncomfortable than if he had stripped naked. This was something he had almost grown accustomed to, however, for his captain treated the ability like any other skill possessed by a member of his crew, and used it accordingly. The logic of this was undeniable, despite Spock's inherent aversion. Much as Kirk used his body if he believed it would be advantageous, so Kirk had more than once asked Spock to use his mind. He knew that Jim understood what it was he was asking on those occasions, and he never asked lightly. In fact, more often than not, Spock would volunteer to spare his captain the guilt of putting the ship first.

Spock concentrated, but he could not detect any indication of the kind of energy that was required to execute a nerve pinch. Spock opened his eyes, and there must have been some indication on his face or in his stance. Kirk dropped his hand, but not before Spock got a blast of nearly overwhelming disappointment, frustration, and a sense of immense failure. The first two Spock could understand, but the third twisted something inside him with an urgent desire to end it.

"Captain," he said, even as he struggled to re-clothe his mind. "It is not a failing."

Kirk turned away from him, not answering, and returned to the chair. He dropped into it with a weary sigh that did nothing to alleviate Spock's concern. "Jim," he tried again, and moved quickly to stand beside him. He touched his arm lightly to get his attention when he did not respond. Kirk looked up, an embarrassed smile curving his mouth. "I cannot breathe under water because I do not have gills – this is not a failing on my part."

His captain nodded, giving him a wan smile. Spock did not realize he still had his hand on Kirk's arm until he reached up to give it a brief pat of reassurance. "Thanks, Spock," Kirk said as Spock took a step back in an effort to regain some dignity. Kirk gestured at the chair on the opposite side of the desk and Spock sat down as he continued. "Well, at least we tried."

Spock folded his hands in his lap calmly. "You cannot prepare for every eventuality," he said.

"I'm the Captain," Kirk said. "It's my job to prepare for every eventuality."

Spock frowned slightly. His captain expected the impossible of himself, and then felt unjustifiably inferior when he inevitably failed these impossible expectations. It was distressing. There was no logic in attempting to dissuade him from this habit, and yet Spock tried. "Captain…"

Kirk waved him off. "I know, I know," he said, but smiled to take away any sting to the interruption.

Spock released his breath in a slow sigh. "There are other, less drastic forms of combat than fists," Spock reminded him softly.

Kirk rested an elbow on the desk and absently drummed his fingers against his cheek. "Hm, yes," he agreed. "I wonder if Sulu would agree to show me some more of that Judo of his. I've got a pretty good grasp on it already, just need some practice." Spock watched as Kirk's eyes narrowed, studying something only he could see. He picked up his coffee cup and downed the remainder of the contents with a grimace of distaste before pulling the chessboard back into place. "Come on, Spock, let's give you a real game," he said, his voice one of pure challenge.

Nothing had really been accomplished, but Kirk had been snapped out of his foul mood. Spock felt tension drain from his back and shoulders that he had not even realized was there, and his captain won the next game.

**=(^)=**


	3. Dagger's End

******Historian's Note:** Takes place before, during, and after the closing scene of 'Dagger of the Mind'.

******Author's Note:** This episode marks the birth of the Vulcan Mindmeld. Spock states that he has never performed one on a non-Vulcan, that such an act is an extremely personal thing, and the resulting scene has an awkward, intense, uncertain feel to it. The concept of the mindmeld evolves throughout the series until, by the last episode, it is nothing more than calmly and silently resting his fingers on the subject's face. This scrawling was written as a plausible explanation of how a before-unused skill, with practice, becomes something that Spock excells at.

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******=(^)= Dagger's End =(^)=**

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The Enterprise was at rest.

It was late in the ship's simulated night as she orbited the Tantalus Penal Colony. What had started as a simple cargo delivery had turned into a nightmare, and they had been here for several days now to oversee the arduous process of setting the high-security station back to rights. Van Gelder had been declared fit enough to manage the colony, but Starfleet had ordered that they verify everything officially since the Enterprise was already in orbit.

McCoy was kept busy with autopsies and psych exams. Kirk had initially objected to the use of the neural neutralizer to undo some of the damage done by Doctor Adams to the inmates, but there was little alternative. The captain had been understandably reluctant to allow Van Gelder to use the machine on him to correct the conditioning in regards to Lieutenant Noel, but Kirk had assured them all that the treatment had been effective.

Kirk had not taken any disciplinary actions against her, and had in fact commended her for her role in their freedom. But Spock had read his captain's report on the incident, and from a Vulcan point of view the woman's actions had been little different than Adams' – namely, she had used that machine for her own selfish ends, to enact a fantasy that had no hope of fruition in reality. It was doubtful that she had intended to leave the matter thus, and it was Adams that had warped the game into something much more debilitating, but such a mental suggestion had most certainly ___not_ been what Kirk had in mind when he gave her that order.

Spock privately believed that she should be removed from active duty, but her request for a transfer was sufficient.

Matters appeared to be as stabilized as they were likely to get and the Enterprise awaited only the dismantling of the machine before leaving orbit. They were behind schedule as a result of this incident, but Mister Scott had assured them that he could 'coax a little something extra' out of the engines and they would be caught up within two additional stops.

Spock's hands were steepled in front of his chest, his elbows resting on the carved wooden arms of his desk chair, as he stared across the room at the wisp of incense curling upwards. He was having difficulty meditating, and should not need to meditate as often as he was finding necessary. By the end of each day they had spent in orbit, however, it had been all Spock could do to maintain his composure before retiring to his quarters.

From the moment of his conception, it had been assumed that he would not be wholly Vulcan and therefore… substandard. Spock was the first Vulcan/Human hybrid on record, but by no means the first species to mix with humans. There was something about Human DNA that allowed it to adapt to almost any species, but it was a matter of record that such mixtures invariably favored the Human genome. He had been tested as an infant, immediately after birth, and his faculties had been deemed inferior. Not completely psi-null, but stunted. Even though his low rating on the mental tests had been expected, it had still come as a disappointment to Father, for Spock's appearance and internal arrangement had led Sarek to expect more.

Spock had been considered handicapped.

He was always small for his age and had to struggle twice as much to control his emotions. The devices used to aid children in learning did not work properly for him, so he had to work much harder to learn. For a Human, Spock's intelligence and aptitude rated off the charts. And even for Vulcans, Spock proved himself far better than average. Yet despite his efforts, he could never quite escape that stigma.

When Van Gelder first began ranting, something within Spock had decided to listen. Kirk had dismissed the man as irrational, and so Spock had been cautious about stating his opinion, distrusting the instincts that he did not like to acknowledge in the first place. It was the combined pressure of Spock's quiet request and McCoy's stern quoting of regulations that prompted the investigation – even though it was clear the captain was merely humoring his staff. But when Kirk announced he had decided to remain on the station, Spock knew his captain was in danger.

It had been Van Gelder himself that had known of the Vulcan mind meld, no doubt from his profession, and suggested it. Spock had hesitated, had haltingly tried to explain to McCoy that he was inexperienced and possibly not even capable of melding with a non-Vulcan, but the doctor had not allowed him that luxury. They needed the information locked in Van Gelder's mind, and there was only one way to get it. It was the only option.

He would never have attempted it had he not been absolutely convinced that Jim's life was in peril.

That Spock had melded with a damaged mind and succeeded in extracting the information he needed not only without causing harm but in fact repairing some of the damage done was a noteworthy accomplishment. There were many full-blooded Vulcans that would not have been able do so. A part of Spock, a very human part, took some pride in that.

That pride was marred by shame, though. His captain had missed his check-in, and what Spock had seen in Van Gelder's mind had made him nearly frantic to get to the surface of the colony. Had the shields not dropped the moment they had, he would have turned the power of the Enterprise upon Tantalus. The fact that not one person on the ship would have protested that action did not mitigate the shame he felt in his lack of control.

It was not that Spock had been unable to meld. He had done so in the past… but only with Vulcans. Melding with an alien mind was simply not the same prospect, particularly an untrained, inexperienced, psi-null mind to which the very idea of melding was foreign. Spock had been required to supply all of the energy needed, instead of the fusion being a shared endeavor. He had over-extended himself. It could be compared to an athlete running a marathon without first working up the endurance needed.

Spock closed his eyes and inhaled the soothing scent of the incense.

The experience seemed to have served as some sort of catalyst. Now it was as though a part of his mind he had thus far been unaware of had awakened. Even now, every centimeter of his skin tingled, every nerve ending was hyper sensitive. Vulcans were touch telepaths, yet Spock was now able to perceive far too much from far too great a distance. Despite having devoted the entirety of each evening to the task, he had still been unable to fully adjust his mental shielding to compensate to his newly awakened sensitivity. He served on a ship full of humans, who had no means of shielding their thoughts and emotions and broadcast them quite loudly. They generally respected his personal space, but Spock had found that space needed to be much larger recently.

It took much more effort than he was accustomed to in order to block out the crew, but it was like strengthening a muscle. It was becoming easier, and soon it would be relatively effortless. It was only a matter of time until it became autonomic and he would be able to maintain the shields in his sleep or even when unconscious. For now, however, it was exhausting and the only relief he found was in the ship's night when the crew was at minimal staff and the Enterprise was at rest.

A flicker of anxiety brushed against his senses and the door's chime sounded. Spock exhaled slowly, not opening his eyes. "Enter."

There was a long pause, as though the visitor was reconsidering, but then the door hissed open. Another long moment passed, and Spock opened his eyes as he turned his head. Kirk was standing in the doorway, preventing it from closing. Spock had known who was there, but the sight of his captain standing there barefoot and in rumpled sleep attire concerned him. They had not seen much of each other in the past few days, between their work and mutual desire for privacy. The low, reddish lighting of Spock's cabin only emphasized the shadows under Kirk's eyes and the new lines etched into his face.

Kirk blinked in mild surprise as he stared at Spock, taking in the dark meditation robe he was wearing. Spock seldom wore his off-duty clothing, but the soft fabric was a relief against his skin from the harsh, synthetic material of the Starfleet uniform. Kirk glanced about the room, concluding that he had interrupted more than just sleep, before swallowing and making as though to back up. "Sorry… I'll come back later," he said.

"You are here, Jim," Spock said quietly, and was too tired to keep the hint of resignation out of his voice. "To leave and return would be illogical."

Kirk relaxed slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a feeble smile. He stepped into the room, allowing the door to slide closed behind him, but stopped there. Spock reached for the environment controls on his desk, the first motion he had made in several hours, but stopped when Kirk waved him off.

"Don't, Spock," Kirk said. "You look like you could use the heat," he added, narrowing his eyes at the Vulcan. Spock obeyed, folding his hands in his lap as he bowed his head. He had been avoiding his captain, for Spock had neither eaten nor slept since Kirk had returned to the ship. "Are you all right?" Kirk asked, and it was clear Spock had succeeded in keeping his condition hidden until now. It had not been difficult, for Spock realized suddenly that Kirk had been equally intent on avoiding his first officer, and apparently for much the same reason.

"I will be," Spock answered, looking up again. He cut off Kirk's next question quickly. "You did not come here to discuss my health."

Kirk closed his mouth with a guilty little frown. "I… No," he agreed, and Spock unconsciously sat up straighter in his seat to study his captain with an intently critical eye. Obviously, he had been misleading the crew, and Spock, distracted with his own needs, had been deceived along with the rest of them. Spock mentally berated himself for his failure, but ceased that pointless line of thought as Kirk started pacing the confines of his quarters, rubbing his hands together nervously.

Kirk suddenly stopped moving, and turned sharply to face Spock. "I need your help," he admitted finally. Kirk's shoulders hunched over slightly and he glanced around the room anxiously as though the walls were closing in on him. "Bones has been pretty good about it, but we both know I have to take a psych exam before we leave orbit." Kirk looked at Spock with dread. "I won't pass," he said with absolute certainty.

Spock blinked in surprise. "You were not truthful when you said the neural neutralizer corrected the… problem with Miss Noel?"

Kirk waved both hands and began pacing again. "No, no, it took care of that," he said. "And I thought… well, I thought the other problem would sort of…" Kirk's sentence stuttered to a halt. Spock waited patiently. Kirk heaved a heavy sigh and went still again. "I thought I'd get over it," he said quietly. "But it's just getting worse," he added, and glanced around the room with a look of near panic for just an instant before squashing it. "I read McCoy's report. What you did. I…" Kirk paused, and then sighed again. "I wanted to thank you. It couldn't have been easy."

He had done what was necessary, and to thank necessity was not logical. But Spock curbed the impulse to say just that and instead gave a slight nod, his way of accepting the gratitude.

Kirk abruptly tapped a finger at his own head. "There's something ___wrong_, Spock, and Van Gelder couldn't fix it." Kirk glanced fearfully around the room again and now that he had begun speaking of the real problem it was as though he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "I feel like the ship is too small, like it's going to crush me and everyone aboard at any second, and I can't make it stop."

"Claustrophobia," Spock said quietly.

Kirk nodded. "That's what Bones said. I don't know where it's coming from. There's…" Kirk paused, frowning in concentration. "There's something missing," he said finally with a sigh. "Something that I can't remember. I was hoping you could…" Kirk trailed off again, and would not meet Spock's concerned gaze.

"The damage done to Van Gelder's mind was relatively mild in comparison to what was done to you," Spock said, and swallowed down the bile that suddenly rose in the back of his throat at the thought. Spock had been neither foolish nor blind enough to believe that the machine had been able to fully heal the trauma, but he knew that his captain was an exceptionally strong minded individual. Kirk's behavior had led him to believe that any lingering after effects would gradually fade away. It was Kirk's habit to withdraw into himself to heal, and Spock respected that because it was a trait they shared. He had been unaware of the extent of the problem.

Spock realized he'd been silent too long when Kirk said softly, "So you're saying you don't want to?"

"It is not a matter of whether or not I wish to," Spock answered. "But I am not a trained mind-healer. It is highly likely – probable – that I would make the matter worse."

A heavy silence descended, smothering the room with despair. "They'll take her away from me," Kirk said very quietly, staring at the carpet at his feet.

Although Spock never spoke of it, because he wanted his accomplishments to be earned in his own right, Spock came from an ancient and well respected House. There were healers on Vulcan that could surely correct whatever the machine had done to his captain, and would do so at the request of Sarek of Vulcan. It galled Spock to even think of asking Father a favor, but Jim's need far exceeded the sacrifice of Spock's pride. He was not certain Father would even grant him an audience, but Spock was reasonably certain Mother could convince him.

"If I fail a psych test before leaving orbit," Kirk said even as Spock opened his mouth, "it'll go on my record. Even if I work my way out of this mess, it'll take too much time. Starfleet wouldn't wait – they can't. And there would always be doubt." Kirk looked up. "They'll take her away."

Spock got slowly to his feet and crossed the room to stand before his captain so that he could meet his eyes levelly. "In that event, I would do everything in my power to make certain that I remained in command of the Enterprise until you were able to resume your proper place."

Kirk swallowed thickly. "Thanks, Spock," he said, and gave his first officer a shaky smile.

But Kirk was correct, and they both knew it. Even assuming that he managed to recover – and Spock had no doubt that he would, given sufficient time – there would always be that smear on his record. Starfleet did not expect its officers to be infallible, but men of perfectly sound mind had been known to buckle under the pressure of captaincy. A psychological black mark of that magnitude would make it impossible for Starfleet to allow Kirk to remain in command of its flagship.

There would surely still be a place in Starfleet for James T. Kirk – but it would not be as captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise.

How could Spock allow that to happen without at least trying?

"I'm willing to take any chance," Kirk said, then looked up sharply with a frown. "Is there any risk to you?"

Spock hesitated, but could not be untruthful. "Yes," he answered honestly, "though far greater danger to yourself."

Kirk's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can't ask…" he started, then shook his head and looked away.

Spock allowed himself a sigh, and Kirk looked back up at him. "I have no desire to serve another captain," Spock answered, and didn't even try to reinforce his shielding against the waves of warmth and gratitude washing up against him. He would need the strength.

"I'll get Bones," Kirk said, heading toward the com unit on Spock's desk.

"I… would prefer privacy," Spock said and Kirk paused to face him with a frown.

"If anything goes wrong, Spock—"

"Doctor McCoy would be able to do nothing," Spock cut him off firmly. If he was going to do this, then he wanted to do so in private. A meld was the most intimate thing a Vulcan could imagine. It had been bad enough doing so with a total stranger in front of an audience, but Jim…

Kirk rubbed a hand over his mouth and jaw in thought, and decided Spock could not be swayed on the matter. "All right," he said, but leaned over the desk and punched a couple buttons. "Captain's log," he said and glanced at the tiny display to read off the stardate. "First Officer Spock is going to attempt something, a Vulcan technique, and I want it on record that this is of my own free will – if anything goes wrong, he is not to be held liable under any circumstances. Kirk out." Kirk flicked a switch and folded his arms across his chest before looking back at Spock. "What do I do?"

Spock said nothing as he closed the distance between them. "Try to relax, and remain calm," was all he could advise. Kirk nodded and made a visible effort to obey, dropping his arms to his side and taking a deep breath. "I will do my utmost to respect your privacy, Jim," Spock said quietly, "but without training, it is unlikely that you will be able to keep any thoughts from me."

Kirk gave him a weak smile. "I trust you not to pry, Spock," he said calmly. The smile strengthened as he added, "And I also think you underestimate yourself."

The confidence that was filtering through Spock's weakened shielding could not be feigned, and Spock was taken aback by the sheer power of his captain's faith in him. Bolstered somewhat by this, Spock raised his hand to Jim's face. As he had with Van Gelder, Spock traced across Jim's chin, cheek, forehead, searching out his psi points. Kirk blinked in surprise at the gentle touch, but did not move or speak. The energy of Jim's mind thrummed under his fingertips, but no one place seemed any stronger than another. Two samples were by no means enough to make a firm average, but Spock suspected that Humans did not really have psi points in the manner that Vulcans did. Van Gelder had not, and neither, it seemed, did Jim. Their minds were simply not constructed to communicate information in that manner.

And so Spock decided on simplicity and splayed his fingers evenly along Jim's temple. The concept was not difficult – a brain functioned by transmitting electrical impulses. It was a relatively simple matter to extend the energy of those impulses from his brain and to his fingers, not much different than a nerve pinch. Spock peeled away the layers of shielding he had spent the past several days trying to reconstruct, and concentrated on finding the best entry point.

"You will feel a light euphoria," Spock warned calmly, so that his captain would not be taken by surprise. Kirk nodded very slightly, and closed his eyes. Jim's mind offered no resistance, and it was alarming how easy it was to enter a Human's thoughts. The idea of having no shielding, ever, was a completely alien notion to Spock. That they went about their business blissfully ignorant of their vulnerability was probably for the best.

Fear. Terror. The emotions came at him in waves, and Spock instantly erected miniature shields around his thoughts to try to stave off the invasion. It was not possible to properly shield himself, not while within another mind, but he was able to create a sort of buffer space. For a moment, Spock was troubled by the intensity of the fear, but quickly realized it was not directed at himself or what he was trying to do. The fear was coming from somewhere else. It was the problem.

It felt like a beer buzz.

The thought was not his own, and it took Spock a moment to decipher its meaning. He supposed, since a meld involved nerve endings and blood vessels sharing electrical impulses that they were not accustomed to sharing, that it would make them feel constricted. The sensation would in fact be similar to the effects of alcohol. Fascinating. Amusement flickered around him, and Spock realized something of his thoughts must have bled through. But Jim was not offended that Spock could not resist analyzing the experience as though it were an experiment, and ripples of fondness radiated from Jim to mingle with the amusement.

Spock wouldn't be Spock if he didn't.

Spock was startled by the emotion that fluttered against him, and struggled to hide his embarrassment at having witnessed it. But the terror was still there, almost debilitating with its intensity, and Spock had barely pressed into the outermost layers of Jim's mind. This was many times worse than what Van Gelder had been enduring - how his captain had managed to not only function but keep the problem hidden was beyond his comprehension. It was more than a little daunting, but Spock had agreed to try, and so he forged onward.

Entering the pathways of another brain was something that took practice and experience, and even though it was only Spock's second time doing so with an alien mind he already found the task easier. Human brains were not nearly as structured as a Vulcan's, but it still took him only a few moments to find a main path. He skimmed along it quickly, sinking past the shadowy surface thoughts that were constantly flung off from the mind to be absorbed by anyone not polite enough to block them out.

Humans were not fully aware of their own minds, and relied much on instinct and autonomic control. Spock could feel Kirk's mind slipping into a sort of trance-like state that would have been alarming in a Vulcan, but he concluded this was a normal response from a human. Jim became less and less aware of Spock as he traveled deeper into the grey area that was like a filmy gauze enveloping the mind, the only type of shielding humans possessed.

Spock stopped in complete shock when he broke through it.

Van Gelder's mind had been a chaotic swirl, alien and almost repugnant with its lack of order. Part of that was of course because it was damaged, but mostly Spock had assumed that it was simply the way humans were. Jim's mind also lacked the organization that would be deemed attractive from a Vulcan perspective, but it was a kaleidoscope of color. This mind was so much more ___vibrant_ that the contrast made it difficult to believe they were the same species.

Surprise slammed into him as he was noticed by some primal part of Jim's mind and Spock suddenly found himself being attacked. It was clumsy, a product of Jim's subconscious, and Spock easily fended it off. But the demand for identification was clear. Spock supplied his name, and the attack dissolved in confusion. There was a pause, and then Spock was inundated.

A brief image of himself with a raised eyebrow, the smell of his favorite incense – Spock had not been aware that the odor clung to him – the taste of a Vulcan tea Jim had once tried over a game of chess, the sound of a tricorder. Emotions connected to the memories flowed over and around him, and Spock watched, mesmerized, as the rainbow pattern of Jim's mind flashed, each memory connected to another and somehow working all at once in a symphony of color.

It was the most beautiful thing Spock had ever seen.

Jim did not think in words – he thought in terms of senses. Sight, sound, smell, taste. Touch. There was a complex pattern to how this mind worked, a definite order to the chaos, and Spock was beset by a sudden intense desire to dive into it, study every nuance, ___understand_ it. Jim's initial reaction died down and the vista before him returned to its normal state. Even at relative rest, Jim's mind hummed with energy and it was clearer to Spock now why he always needed a bit more shielding when in the presence of this particular Human.

And then Spock saw the darkened, ugly patch marring the surface. This would be the recent damage done by the neural neutralizer. He drifted cautiously towards it to study it better, and concluded that although it would be some time before it healed fully, it was not the source of the waves of terror even now threatening to crumble Spock's shielding. But there was a thread leading away from it. Spock hesitated only a moment before following it deeper into Jim's mind, doing his best to keep Jim's most private memories at bay.

It was almost impossible for an untrained mind to distinguish its own self from that of some one melding, for to access the memories stored in the chemical bundles within the brain required using the same neurons. Physically, Spock was sending his own thought impulses along Jim's. The visual display was something Spock's mind produced, more like an operating system for a computer that allowed him to translate the information without losing his own identity. The information could be copied and transferred, even altered, if one knew how. He was expending so much effort in not picking up any stray thoughts from Jim that he could not tell what information Jim might be receiving from him, but it was clear that Jim knew that he was essentially defenseless against anything Spock might do. That made the level of trust placed in him doubly humbling.

It was not long before Spock could see what the thread led to. The black, festering area was deep within and Spock passed several other darkened areas on his way. These were silent, contained. Old wounds, long since healed as best as they were going to. Spock quickly strengthened the barriers, for even acknowledging their existence was prompting Jim to recall the memory they represented, and the darkened patches flickered reluctantly. Spock hurried past before he could make Jim dredge up something best left buried.

Spock came to a stop, and paused. Humans did not record the passage of time completely, but instead remembered only segments that had some meaning to them. These segments were, for the most part, distinct from each other and Spock's mind saw them as individual blocks of information. The wound was surrounded by a tangled jumble of memories twisted together that were probably originally connected to it in some way. Very, very carefully, he tried to unwind one of them. It was an unpleasant memory of some kind, laden with distrust and anger, and Spock strengthened his mental buffers even more so that he could not read any more than that. It separated without too much trouble, and Spock watched in fascination as the colored patches that represented the thoughts around it shifted and merged with each other like liquid.

The resiliency of this mind, the sheer strength of it, made a hard, cold lump of anger start to burn at Spock's core at what it must have taken to cause this much damage.

Spock set about prying the knot apart with a grim determination. Brief flashes of memory made their way past Spock's buffers despite his efforts, but there was no helping it. Unhappy memories of Jim's childhood, some time in early adolescence Spock estimated. Bitter, angry memories. For a time, Jim had hated everyone and everything. What Spock picked up had little meaning, disjointed and out of context as it was. This was just as well, because Spock could sense from Jim that he did not want Spock - or anyone - to see this.

Spock knew that Jim was reliving at least some of these memories as he worked, but he was so far into Jim's mind now that the physical world of the Enterprise was nothing but a distant echo. He was vaguely aware that he was speaking out loud, both of them, verbally translating thoughts. But Spock did not get the impression that Jim wanted him to stop, only a determination to endure whatever he must to keep his command, so Spock continued.

Eventually, Spock uncovered an open wound, with dark, gangrenous fingers slowly leeching into the brightness around it. A torrent of fear and despair gushed from it in an overwhelming flood that threatened to drown him. It was clearly connected somehow to the memory of the neural neutralizer, so Spock suspected that this was something the machine had implanted in Jim's mind. It was like a cancerous mass, and it needed to be removed, but Spock was not certain where to begin.

He wished fleetingly that he had allowed Jim to summon McCoy, for the doctor's knowledge of human psychology would have been helpful now. He briefly considered calling McCoy, but some instinct told him that it would be unwise to break the meld now. Instead, he cautiously pried at the edges of it, where it connected to a real memory. It was a mistake.

He was wedged into in a dark, cramped space. It was so tight that he could not fully expand his chest to breathe the stale, sour air. He tried to raise his hands to cover his ears, but they were pinned to his side. He couldn't have blocked out the sounds anyway. It was wrong, that so many people could be snuffed out with just the sound of a deep hum. But he knew what it was. Herded like cattle to the slaughter, then instantly vaporized. Painless, they said, and a sacrifice for the greater good. The cries of the panicked crowd still rang in his ears because the silence was even worse.

They were all dead, and he was alone.

He couldn't make a sound. If he was very quiet, they wouldn't find him. Tommy's mom had made sure of that. She was dead now.

They were all dead and he was ___alone_.

They'd seen his face. The govenor had been killed shortly after it had become public knowlage that the colony was facing starvation, and a man calling himself Kodus had stepped forward. He'd kept his face covered, and never appeared in public, and his proposal on how to save half the colony had been recieved mostly with horror. He didn't know how it had gotten this far, how people could lock themselves in their homes and allow this to happen. But he and Tommy had seen his face.

He bit into his own tongue, forcing himself to be quiet. He didn't want to be alive, but he had to. At least one of them had to get away, and Tommy was probably already dead. No one could have survived that - half his face had been torn off. He retched at the thought, but his empty belly had nothing to offer. He scraped his chin across his shoulder to wipe away the spit and swallowed a few times.

He had to be quiet. Had to concentrate and listen so he'd know when it was safe to leave. It would be a long time. He could already hear the crying and yelling of the next group being herded along.

Hatred was the only thing keeping him alive at this point, and he clung to it like the life preserver it was.

They were all ___dead_ and he was ___alone_.

Alone, alone, ___alonealonealone_—

Spock flailed frantically, trying to escape, and realized with utter shock that this was not something conjured up by Adams' sick mind. This horrific nightmare was a ___memory_.

Spock wrenched himself free with a massive effort, but his shielding had been compromised. Terror closed in on him, suffocating him like the walls of the ship that just kept getting smaller and smaller until there was nothing left but him and the cold metal, and then there'd be nothing at all because he was going to die alone—

Spock jerked away once again, and knew that this was far beyond his ability. He'd been vain to have even considered this, swayed by emotion and Jim's need, but he was only making it worse because everything was empty, empty, empty. The high pitched whine droned onward and every thought was draining from him, even the pain, but he couldn't let that happen. He snatched at the pain and anger, because it was at least something to fill the gaping emptiness, and they hadn't answered his hail because ___they were all dead and he was alone_—

Jim should not have been able to organize a resistance after being crippled by the machine's conditioning, and that was the reason Adams had been caught off guard. And it was because Adams had tried to reinforce the conditioning with pain - but Jim was no stranger to pain. Instead of fearing it, trying to escape it, his mind had tapped into the much older memory to ___use_ it. When he tried to go against the conditioning, instead of lashing him with pain and fear as it did Van Gelder, Jim had to deal with anger. And Jim was very good at using anger.

And now the two memories, past and present, were intertwined and he should have listened to Spock, bad things always happened when he didn't listen to Spock. He just had to keep it together until Helen got the shield down because Spock would never leave him alone, to die alone, alone, alone—

Spock was nearly frantic now. He was being consumed by Jim's trauma, and had no idea how to properly fix this twisted thing that the machine had done to his captain. Some instinct caused Spock to sever the thread connecting the two memories in a dangerous act of desperation. It lacked any sense of finesse, and the ends snapped away from each other with violent force.

Spock mentally staggered against the backlash, but regained his balance and struggled to shore up his shielding. All around him, Jim's mind rippled and shifted, adjusting to the new parameters, and Spock despaired that he had ruined what had been left of Jim's sanity. No matter what record Jim left behind in the log, Spock would hold himself accountable.

The maelstrom was dying down, and this entire portion of Jim's mind was in scattered shards. Spock did not know what to do. This was something he did not know if even a trained mind healer could mend. But he could not leave.

Spock hesitantly reached for one the shards, a block of memory, and gave it a little push to gently nudge it to where it should be. He watched in amazement as the edges sealed with adjacent memories and impressions. They were sharp, raw edges, and he knew on an instictive level that it would take time to heal. Jim would dwell on these memories for a long time, but Spock was starting to beleive that his unskilled tampering had not proved fatal. Jim would recover.

Spock carefully gathered up the other bits and pieced them together, one by one. He could not know what the original order had been, but it would have to do. A few memories were beyond recovery, as they were too fragmented and would not rejoin. Spock removed them, rather than leave them floating free to cause harm later. Spock regretted the loss, for he had no way of knowing what they were or how dear they had been to Jim.

A lesser mind would have been destroyed, Spock knew that for a certainty. It was possible that it was still damaged beyond being able to captain the ship. He would not know until he left the meld, and Jim passed McCoy's tests. But the gripping, claustrophobic terror had vanished.

Or rather, Spock realized, it had been confined to where it had escaped.

The dark, ugly wound had sealed over, and was not one of the few that were lost. Spock wished it had been. He was tempted to remove it. That Jim had endured such a thing as a child was horrifying. But it was the nucleus of too many other memories, which would probably be lost with it. One of them was a particularly bright, shining ember that flared briefly, responding to the attention.

A wisp of happiness brushed against him and Spock quickly tried to back away from it, but he not fast enough. His shields were in tattered ruins, and though he tried to respect Jim's privacy he sat in the middle of a field of wheat, tall, dry stalks waving in the light breeze as he stared up at the night sky. He loved his uncle's old farm – so much open space. He knew that's why he'd been brought here of course. He could go in the house now, and take the shuttle to Riverside, and everything he used to do. But he would always love the open countryside, he decided.

"You know, Jimmy," Dad said beside him, and he smiled up at the stars without looking away. "There's a lot of space in space."

He laughed softly. "Yeah, Dad." He stared up at the glittering expanse. The stars had always called to him, his Dad said it was in the Kirk blood. And there ___was_ a lot of space up there. All the room he could possibly imagine. He'd have to stay inside a ship most of the time, but… well, a ship was just like wearing a coat. Just a part of himself, not a container at all. He could fly in all that great, empty space. There'd be all kinds of planets he could visit, and he'd make sure he beamed down to every single one of them. Because he'd be the captain and he could do whatever he wanted. His smile widened. As long as he wasn't alone, he'd be fine.

Spock opened his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath as he reined in all the bits of his energy and withdrew from Jim's mind. He looked down to see that Jim's face was pressed to his chest, and both hands had clutched at the fabric of his robe. Spock's other hand had joined the effort at some point, and both were buried in the damp hairline at Jim's temples. Spock hesitantly released him and awkwardly lowered his hands.

Jim opened his eyes and blinked into the dark cloth before straightening slowly. He unclenched his hands, and absently tried to smooth out the crushed fabric until he realized what he was doing and quickly stepped back. Kirk cleared his throat, embarrassed, then made a valiant effort at a smile as he looked up. "Your—" he began, but broke off. He blinked in wonder, reaching with one hand toward Spock's cheek before stopping himself just shy of contact. "Spock…"

Spock blinked calmly, feeling the lashes heavy with moisture and knew there were tears down his face as well. Spock felt no shame in them, for they were not his own. "Emotional transference is unavoidable in a meld," he said, his voice gravely with exhaustion. It was a direct quote from his childhood lessons, and though it was true, it did little to curb the guilt coming off Jim in waves.

"Are you all right?" Kirk asked.

Spock would have outright lied rather than add any burden to his captain right now, but after a moment's thought he did not need to. "Yes," he answered. Then he narrowed his eyes and studied Kirk carefully. "And you?"

Kirk frowned as he glanced around the room. The incense had long since burned out, but the scent was still strong. Kirk smiled slightly as his eyes passed over the small statue that held the ashes, and Spock suddenly imagined the bright orchestra that must be playing right now. What it must look like when he was in command of the ship, piecing together bits of facts to come up with an unlikely solution must be… fascinating.

Kirk's shoulders relaxed as looked back to Spock with an uncertain smile. "Yeah," he answered, and this time he was telling the truth. "I'm all right." He straightened his shoulders and looked around again as though daring the bulkheads to disagree. "I'm all right," he repeated with more confidence. He gave Spock a thoughtful, calculating look. "You know, that's a pretty handy skill."

Spock closed his eyes briefly before opening them again to regard his captain. Kirk's expression had changed to a frown. "Captain," Spock said, "it is a very... personal thing."

"I see," Kirk said quietly.

He could certainly understand why it was personal. There hadn't been anything at all sexual about the meld, but he'd definatly gotten the impression that the act was considered just as intimate, if not more so. Kirk himself was willing to do whatever he deemed neccesary to complete a mission, or for the safety of the Enterprise, including using his charms if the situation allowed for it. He knew he might order a crewmate to do the same, if it came down to it, but it would be a last resort. He put this skill in the same category and let the subject drop.

"I'm going to go get McCoy's damn test over with," he announced suddenly, and headed for the door.

"Captain," Spock said patiently, and Kirk turned back around with raised eyebrows. "As it is after 04:00 hours, the good doctor is likely to be most… irritable if you wake him."

"Oh," Kirk said, and glanced at the tiny display on Spock's desk. Then he shrugged. "Bones is always irritable."

"Granted," Spock agreed. "Still, may I suggest you get some rest before enduring his poking and prodding?" Spock simply did not have the energy to suppress the flicker of satisfaction as Kirk let out a tired laugh.

Kirk rubbed a hand wearily over the back of his neck before looking back up. "Only if you do, too," he answered.

Since Spock estimated that he had about five minutes before he collapsed entirely, it was an easy deal to make. "Agreed."

"See you on the bridge," Kirk said and turned away. He paused just as the doors opened, and looked back. "I know you think thank-yous are illogical, but… Thanks."

"The standard reply is equally illogical," Spock answered. "However… You are welcome."

Kirk smiled at him, the first real smile in days, and even from across the room Spock could feel the waves of fondness wash over him. "'Night, Spock."

"Good night, Captain," Spock answered, just as a technician passed in the corridor outside.

The crewman paused in surprise, taking in Kirk's sweaty, rumpled appearance, and turned to look at Spock just before the doors slid closed. Spock would never know what Kirk said to the man, but he was certain he would hear something about it from Sulu later. He was too tired to give it any more thought.

He did not even make the effort to change his clothes, but dropped into his bed and was asleep in moments. His internal clock woke him three hours later, with just enough time to groom and change into his uniform for duty. He was still tired as the turbolift deposited him on the bridge, but the sleep had done him good. He was having only a little trouble with his shielding, which was a relief beyond measure.

When the captain did not arrive within the next ten minutes, Spock make absolutely certain that he displayed no concern whatsoever. The crew cast a few furtive looks amongst themselves, but went about the duties without asking any questions. If the captain was not on the bridge and the first officer seemed unconcerned, then it must not be a problem. There were already murmurs amongst the crew about the events on Tantalus, and Spock had every intention of preventing more from spreading. Spock very discreetly initiated an internal scan, then adjusted the sensors minutely before staring at the readings on one of his small screens.

His captain was still asleep, and the low, rhythmic bioreadings were reassuring. Even so, Spock had to resist the impulse to check on him in person.

McCoy appeared on the bridge soon after with his usual effervescent cheer. "Where the hell is Jim?" he demanded crossly.

Spock sighed in resignation as the entire bridge went alert and pretended not to be listening.

Spock raised an eyebrow, wondering why McCoy should automatically assume that he'd know the captain's whereabouts. A reply to that effect perched on the tip of his tongue, but Spock's patience was less than optimal at the moment and so he simply pointed one long finger at the display on his console. McCoy scowled at him, in a thoroughly bad mood, and stalked over to glare at the monitor.

"Oh," he said quietly, and the foul temper seemed to fizzle on the spot. The doctor stared at the readings for a moment longer, then looked at Spock out of the corner of his eye. He glanced around the bridge, and showed at least some respect for the chain of command by leaning in closer to Spock to whisper, "Is he… uh… Did you…?"

Spock inclined his head slightly.

"Oh," McCoy said again, and relaxed with a wide, crooked smile. Apparently, the ship's chief medical officer had prepared himself to remove his closest friend from command by making himself as gruff as possible. "Well, when he wakes up tell him I want his ass in my office pronto," he ordered, then left the bridge.

"Yes, Sir," Spock replied quietly as the doors hissed closed, and Uhura had a sudden coughing fit.

Four hours and thirteen minutes later, Spock's communication terminal lit up to reveal a very disheveled captain glaring at him from the small screen. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It seemed logical at the time, Sir," he replied calmly. "Also, Doctor McCoy respectfully requests your presence in sickbay at your earliest con—"

Kirk made a disgusted grumble and the line closed.

Spock sighed. At least things were getting back to normal.

Less than an hour later, McCoy appeared on the bridge again. Spock glanced up from a datapad he had spent entirely too much time reading, and took careful note of the doctor's demeanor. he released his breath in a slow sigh when McCoy gave him a wan smile and crossed over to his station.

"He won't be dreaming about butterflies and rainbows any time soon," McCoy said quietly, "but he's certified fit for duty."

Spock gave a quick, questioning glance towards the turbolift.

"Oh, he'll be up in a minute," McCoy answered, leaning casually on the rail. "Told him if he didn't eat something I'd switch his food card to nothing but Vulcan protein chips for a week. Nobody in their right mind would eat that stuff."

Spock narrowed his eyes at McCoy. All manner of retorts popped into his mind, but he chose to ignore the statement. McCoy sighed in disappointment and gave Spock an exasperated roll of his eyes for not playing his game before pushing away from the rail and moving to hover ominously near the vacant command chair.

Spock returned to the datapad with relief, however, because McCoy's relatively light spirited mood was more proof of his captain's well being than any medical report.

When the turbolift doors hissed open, then entire bridge turned to look and Uhura fairly leapt out of her seat. Her greeting faded away at he stepped onto the bridge. "Oh, Captain," she said, but trailed off when Kirk gave her an expressionless look. "There was a message from Tantalus Colony, sir." Kirk gave her a slight nod as he turned away and stepped down to the lower level.

"It was from Van Gelder," Spock said, and Kirk gave him his full attention. "He thought you'd like to know the treatment room had been dismantled. The equipment destroyed."

Kirk digested that for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "Thank you," he said and settled into the command chair. It was a dismissal, yet Spock remained where he was as the captain leaned back into the seat and stared at the main viewscreen in thought.

McCoy had one arm draped casually over the back of the command chair, leaning into it. "It's hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness," he said quietly. That had been McCoy's official ruling for Adam's cause of death. A somewhat bizarre report, but accurate. The Enterprise was becoming notorious for sending such reports back to Earth.

A long moment of silence passed before Kirk answered. "Not when you've sat in that room."

McCoy looked down at the top of Kirk's head with a concerned frown.

Kirk stared at the viewscreen for a moment longer, seeing something only he could see, and then returned to the present. He turned almost blindly to his right, and looked up when Spock took a small step closer to the chair. Spock was hard pressed to control his expression at the echo of loneliness that rippled from his captain. It was hard for McCoy to believe, yes. Hard for anyone to believe. But Spock believed it, understood it – had ___felt_ it.

Somehow, knowing that at least one person really did understand made all the difference, and Kirk smiled. "Take us out of orbit, Mister Spock," he said, and Spock was only too pleased to obey for the confident tone of command was a reassuring sound. "Ahead warp factor one."

Spock felt his mouth curve but he did nothing to stop it, for the reward was far too great. Jim's eyes lit up and some of that loneliness drained away, at least for the moment. "Acknowledged, Captain – warp factor one."

McCoy gave Kirk a friendly, reassuring pat on the shoulder before making his way to the turbolift and the Starship Enterprise sped away from Tantalus. Spock returned to his station, secure in the knowledge that all would be well. The smile had faded from Kirk's face and he was staring solemnly at the starfield on the viewscreen when Spock glanced at him a few moments later. Spock swallowed, and turned back to his console. He also understood a little of what Kirk saw in those stars. Yes, everything was returning to normal… but he didn't think things would ever be quite the same again.

And it was, perhaps, a good thing.

* * *

******Author's Note: **Having blocked the childhood memory is a logical reason for Kirk being able to recall every word of Kodus' announcement but not remember the face. I like this idea better, however; the memory had been damaged.


	4. The Needs of the One

**Historian's Note:** Takes place just before 'The Menagerie'.**  
**

* * *

**=(^)= The Needs of the One =(^)=

* * *

**

James T. Kirk had been in command of the Enterprise for four months, sixteen days when Spock began to suspect a pattern. Twenty two days later, he was quite positive of his suspicions.

Fleet Captain Pike, the former captain of the Enterprise, was funneling the fleet's misfits to the Enterprise.

He had started with Kirk.

It was Pike's insistent recommendations that had finally swayed Starfleet command in favor of granting the brash young Kirk command of the Federation's aging flagship. Only then had Pike been willing to accept promotion and leave the Enterprise. It had come as a something of a shock to most of the crew, but Spock had not been surprised. For several months, Pike had been growing pensive, thoughtful. Anxious was also an appropriate term. More than once, he had confided to his science officer that he was not pleased with the direction Starfleet was taking.

Pike had never shown any inclination for the admiralty. As far as Spock had been aware, his ambitions ended at having obtained captaincy of a starship. Not because he lacked the skill for higher command, but because his true desire was exploration. Pike, in his belief that Starfleet needed to change, had given up command of the Enterprise to make it happen.

Starfleet, and the Federation, were all indebted to Pike for this sacrifice.

"What's on your mind?" his captain asked, and Spock was jolted out of his musings.

Spock looked up from where he'd been studying his hands, and realized that his captain had moved his queen and had been waiting for… Spock checked his internal clock and realized it must have been at least two full minutes. He looked into Kirk's concerned face, and could not stop a rush of guilt from welling up.

Kirk did not know.

Kirk had long ago entrusted his first officer with screening the reports that made it to the captain's desk, sparing him the tedium. And Spock had deliberately kept one file from reaching Kirk's eyes. Spock had not been able to meditate since then, and was beginning to have trouble concentrating. He was utterly torn with indecision and time was running out.

It was not a decision that logic could make.

"Why have you assigned Ensign Chekov to astrophysics?" Spock asked, dodging his captain's question.

Kirk's eyebrows raised and he crossed his arms as he leaned back into his seat. Pike's most recent recommendation had been a young Russian that was on the verge of expulsion from the fleet. He had graduated Starfleet academy at the age of seventeen, setting a record. In the three years since then, however, he had not managed to advance any farther than ensign. He was a genius, but hot tempered and impulsive. It would seem that Starfleet, and Pike in particular, was hopeful that he could be tamed. Spock did find himself curious as to why the young man's previously exemplary records had abruptly taken a turn for the worse with his assignment to the USS Gavin. His inquiry to that ship had been returned with only a curt suggestion that the ensign be discharged from duty.

Instead, Pike had sent him to the Enterprise.

Kirk sighed. "I'm not entirely sure," he confessed with a rueful smile. "I don't think he's ready for the bridge yet, but I want to keep him."

Spock frowned slightly. "Do you wish for me to… take any particular action?" he asked carefully.

Kirk smiled and sipped at his brandy, apparently considering his answer. "No, Spock. Just be you."

Spock did not understand the amused glint in his captain's eyes. Kirk obviously had some ulterior motive for assigning the bitter young man to one of his science divisions, despite the ensign's having graduated from the academy with the highest marks in tactical and navigations. Thus far, Kirk had displayed a remarkable ability to discern salvageable officers and so Spock curbed his dismay. Perhaps Kirk did not wish to err with this one as he had with Bailey. Spock did, however, make a mental note to make certain that he gave particular consideration to this one ensign. His captain wanted this young man for the bridge, and Spock did not wish to disappoint him.

A pang of regret suddenly twisted within him as he realized it was probably a moot point.

"As you wish, sir," he said, and moved his knight. He saw instantly that a more logical move would have been the bishop, and was displeased with his distracted state of mind.

The expression was brief, but Spock caught the flicker of annoyance on Kirk's face before it was hidden away. A sense of satisfaction rippled through Spock, for he was now aware that he must have inadvertently disrupted an unforeseen plan of attack. Spock studied the board, looking for the oversight, as Kirk frowned in concentration. Spock blinked as he spotted the ploy, mentally followed it to its conclusion, and knew it would have been his undoing.

Kirk would need a few minutes to rethink his strategy, and Spock found his thoughts again wandering.

Montgomery Scott had been a last minute addition to the crew, barely making it aboard before the ship left port. The man had spent twenty three years in the service without having advanced beyond the rank of lieutenant by the time he was assigned to the Enterprise. Scott was a brilliant engineer, but his unorthodox theories and methods had led to frustration when they were ignored. This in turn led to a flagrant disregard for the command structure that had made it difficult for him to advance. In fact, he had managed to incur the wrath of more than one high ranked officer and thus found his career stalled in several desolate outposts.

But he _was_ a brilliant engineer, and Starfleet was reluctant to simply discharge him. The Enterprise had been his last chance, and it was Pike that sent him.

When the chief engineer had declared that he could not work with the 'deranged maniac', Kirk had refused to dismiss Scott. And so, outraged and frustrated, Olson had transferred. Scott had been shocked when Kirk promoted him to the vacancy, and a sort of agreement had been reached at some point. Kirk tolerated Scott's unique interpersonal skills and occasional insubordination, and Scott managed to keep the ship from exploding despite the captain's often impossible demands.

Spock had accepted the unspoken compromise without comment. The Enterprise owed its survival, many times over, to the ingenuity of the volatile Scotsman; the engineer's extremely innovative creativity with the laws of physics had allowed him to snatch them all from oblivion more than once.

Perhaps the most outrageously vocal of the lot, Spock had not been prepared for Kirk's reaction to one Leonard McCoy.

Doctor Piper had retired shortly after the incident that killed Gary Mitchell. McCoy had been sent, with Pike's recommendations. Spock had still been adapting to his new double roll as science officer and first officer, and might have been somewhat overzealous at the time, but he'd sent an inquiry to the captain of the ship he served previously. The reply praised McCoy's skill as a surgeon, but added that the man was 'difficult to work with'.

There were times when Spock sincerely wished the captain had not developed such an affinity for the abrasive, insubordinate, undisciplined chief medical officer. Kirk granted the man an astounding amount of liberty, even allowing him to lurk on the bridge at critical moments when, by regulations, the doctor should be in sickbay. Spock tolerated the doctor's caustic lack of respect because Kirk did, but he did so reluctantly. Spock and McCoy had managed to form an uneasy truce, cemented by their common concern for Kirk's welfare.

He would miss McCoy more than he would ever admit aloud.

"Spock?"

Spock blinked, and realized he had once again slipped into an almost meditative state of consciousness.

"You're staring at the desk like you suspect it might be an undiscovered life form," Kirk said once he had the Vulcan's attention.

Spock looked up from the desk. "I have been considering the nature of the crew," he said honestly.

Kirk tilted his head. "What about them?"

Spock inhaled slowly, choosing his words. "Does it not seem to you that some of them are somewhat… eccentric?"

Kirk smiled, and rubbed his hand across his mouth. He failed in his attempt to control his amusement, and suddenly laughed. "Eccentric is a very polite word for it, Spock," Kirk said, taking another sip of his drink. At Spock's curious look, Kirk waved his free hand to encompass the ship and her crew. "They're geniuses, all of them," he said. "Geniuses sometimes have a hard time conforming. I'm willing to cut them a little slack – if they deserve it." Kirk set his glass down on the table, and crossed his arms. "That includes you, by the way," he added.

Spock raised a slightly offended eyebrow. "I believe I am the most stable of the command staff, sir," he said, and could not help adding, "Including yourself."

"So you're telling me," Kirk said, leaning forward in his seat to grin at Spock, "that you are a perfect example of Vulcan conformity within Vulcan society?"

It was like a physical shock to realize that his captain was correct. Spock was a misfit. He blinked in astonishment, and Kirk burst out laughing.

"Nothing but the best for my ship, Spock," Kirk said and Spock exhaled slowly at the fondness brushing against his mental shielding from across the table. His first instinct was to reinforce his shielding, but something in his mind suddenly decided in that moment that he could not include Jim in his plans. He drank in the emotion as parched earth would soak up rain, because he knew this would be the last time he felt such a thing. He had to resist the urge to close his eyes and savor the moment. He had been assured the plan could not fail, but Spock simply could not risk it.

"Besides," Kirk added as he moved his knight. "It would get boring around here if everyone was… normal."

Kirk did not surround himself with weak minded individuals. Every one of his senior command staff was strong willed, and they did not follow orders blindly. They constantly challenged him, constantly pushed the limits. It was their nature. No other captain would ever allow such behavior. But Kirk was possessed of an instinctive ability to command their respect, to tolerate their individuality while still demanding loyalty and duty.

Spock lacked that ability. For Spock, it was a battle to keep them in check whenever he found himself in command of the Enterprise. He had not earned their trust as firmly as Kirk had. He did not understand why his captain insisted that he could learn to command the same loyalty and admiration. Spock knew that, for now at least, any respect they gave him was little more than an extension of their devotion to Kirk.

No one, absolutely no one, could ever unite and command this particular crew of brilliant misfits anywhere near as effectively as James T. Kirk.

There were some within Starfleet who were beginning to suspect that these people gave their loyalty to Kirk more than to the service. This was dangerous, but the success rate of the Enterprise caused those in the upper echelons to turn a blind eye. Betraying Starfleet should have a stronger effect on him, but it did not.

It was the thought of deceiving _Kirk_ that settled a cold weight of dread in his chest.

"I guess you're just in one of your contemplative moods," Kirk said and Spock looked up.

"Yes," Spock murmured softly. It was not a lie, but something within threatened to break as Kirk gave him an understanding look. He leaned back in his chair and sipped quietly at his brandy, content to finish the game in silence.

The idea of execution for the actions he was about to take was almost a welcome notion, for he did not believe that Kirk, his captain, his friend, would forgive him.

Spock had not been surprised when the Talosians had contacted his mind. The fact that travel to that planet had been expressly forbidden, on pain of death, did not negate the fact that their world was nestled well within the Federation's boundaries. He had not been surprised to find they were keeping track of the goings-on of their neighbors. He had not been surprised that they held a particular interest in Christopher Pike.

Pike had once called Spock a son that his service to Starfleet had denied him. Spock privately admitted that in many ways Pike was like a father to him, filling a craving for something that Sarek had been incapable of providing. The Talosian's had known exactly who to contact. But while Spock felt honor bound to risk his own life for the sake of Pike's sanity, he refused to risk Jim's.

He could feel their displeasure at his decision pressing against the back of his mind. They had already made their plans. Not including Kirk in those plans would increase the difficulty a hundred fold. There was no risk. Once Pike was delivered, Starfleet feared Talos enough to let the incident be buried. It was an unfounded fear, but not one beyond being useful. Kirk would allow Spock the use of the Enterprise for this purpose. Taking the ship by stealth was an unnecessary risk

Spock shut out the flurry of complaints. Spock did not share their certainty. If Jim did not know, he could not be held accountable.

He had already begun to pay on his side of the bargain, and they would simply have to adapt. He had allowed them into his mind, to see and hear and experience all that he did for the duration. It was the price they had asked for his former captain's safe passage. There was so little that was beyond their understanding, but the human species fascinated them as no other ever had. They wanted this chance to study human interactions. The sanctity of his mind was something that Spock had difficulty offering as payment, no matter how temporary, but it was a price he could pay.

Pike's need was great, and excluding Jim jeopardized their chances of success. But the need to ensure Jim's safety was greater.

Spock would brook no more argument. The new resolve and conviction was a relief to the past two days of indecision, and he blotted out the disgruntled murmurings in his mind as plans were reformed. Spock dismissed them, and moved one of the game pieces, caring little about where it landed. He focused solely on the chess game and his opponent. These games of chess with Jim had become important to him, something that he looked forward to on a regular basis.

He believed it would be his last.

**=(^)=**


	5. Secrets of the Service

**Historian's Note:** Takes place shortly after 'Journey to Babel', with reference to 'The Naked Time', 'This Side of Paradise', and 'Amok Time' plus a bit of foreshadowing for 'The Motion Picture'.

**Author's Note:** Some musing from the good doctor.

**WARNING:** Rated for McCoy's mouth, because I am apparently incapable of writing him without profanity.

**=(^)= Secrets of the Service =(^)=**

McCoy was just an old country doctor, with an open door policy in his sickbay.

One of the first things he'd done after joining the crew of the Enterprise had been to get Scotty to install a little button on the wall in his office. The door stayed open, except for when he specifically wanted it closed. McCoy firmly believed this had a psychological effect on his patients, making it a little easier for them to come to him with problems.

Some of the bugs a person could pick up on shore leave were downright embarrassing.

If that policy happened to have the convenient side effect of letting him peek into his sickbay without being noticed, well, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? McCoy leaned quietly on the frame of his office door, his arms folded across his chest, and watched his only patient. Jim had managed to complicate his already serious wound with that little stunt of his. And McCoy had helped him - he'd doped Jim up to the eyeballs with stimulants and painkillers to get him on the bridge.

He really shouldn't have let Jim do it. He'd had the authority to stop him.

But whatever difficulties Spock and Sarek had, Jim just couldn't let Spock's father die when the means to save him was at hand, and neither could McCoy.

That means was currently sitting in a chair next to Jim's biobed, his head tilted at a game of chess that had been set up on a small table between them. Sarek and Spock, both possessing that incredible Vulcan recuperative ability, had recovered quickly. McCoy had been reluctant to release Sarek, but the ambassador had been determined to still attend the conference. Duty and logic.

Damned Vulcans.

Jim, being only human, was taking a little bit longer.

And so Spock was in command, and the Enterprise was in orbit around Babel. They would remain there for however long it took the conference to come to an agreement, then ship everyone back. So far, at least, there hadn't been any more murders. McCoy personally hoped Corridan would be admitted into the Federation, if only so that Starfleet could legally keep the Orions off their backs. But no one had asked his opinion.

He was pretty sure that was the way it was going to go, though. Sarek of Vulcan was in favor of admission, and Sarek of Vulcan was one _very_ influential man.

McCoy narrowed his eyes at Spock. People liked to think that the majority of those who enlisted in Starfleet did so out of idealism, but the stark reality was that Starfleet, like the military of almost all worlds, was the last resort for a great many folk. An escape, a new beginning. An unwritten rule was that you never asked why some one signed up, specially on a ship that was sent out into deep space exploration. A lot of people took one tour of duty on a ship like the Enterprise because it looked really good on a resume, prayed they came back alive, and then never set foot on a ship again.

But to keep signing up, over and over, as a way of life?

Career Starfleet was not the way to go if one had or wanted a family.

For the most part, those who chose Starfleet had their secrets. McCoy certainly had his own that he had no intention of discussing, and he knew both Spock and Jim had theirs. When you served in Starfleet, that was just something you accepted and you didn't ask people about their secrets, or feel slighted if one was kept from you.

This whole debacle had given McCoy a great deal of insight into their resident Vulcan. Good God, Spock hadn't even told_ Jim_ that his father was the Ambassador of Vulcan. And of course, no one had ever asked. You don't ask. It was a matter of record, naturally, but you didn't go prying into a man's records in Starfleet. Not unless you had to.

McCoy couldn't say for sure what had driven Spock into Starfleet in the first place, but he was pretty sure he knew what had kept him there. McCoy smiled fondly at the only Vulcan in Starfleet willing to serve on a human-crewed ship as he moved one of the game pieces and murmured something that got a weak laugh out of Jim.

Jim had complained of boredom, and this was apparently enough to give Spock the logical reason he needed in order to allow himself to sit here in sickbay. Jim was propped up with several pillows, half on his side to favor his back, and blinked sleepily at the game. Jim picked up a horse, but then hesitated for a moment with a frown. He set the piece down again and absently began to drum his fingers on the edge of the mattress.

Now, McCoy didn't know one blessed thing about chess, but the way Spock's eyes flicked from the board, to Jim, and back again told him that Jim had just made a really bad move. Not even a _legal _one, for McCoy's shrewd eyes didn't miss the back of Spock's hand discretely nudge the horse one square to the left before smoothly moving to pick up one of the castles.

Spock didn't have to worry about Jim noticing, though.

Spock's arm paused in mid-air as Jim's eyes slid closed and his hand relaxed, slipping over the edge of the biobed. The Vulcan instantly straightened in his seat, his eyes rising to check the monitor above the bed. McCoy did the same, but without any concern. Jim was on some pretty hefty meds that had a tendency to kick in at random, and McCoy was surprised that he'd stayed awake this long. Satisfied that Jim had only fallen asleep, Spock set the castle on one of the squares before silently folding his hands in his lap. Spock's gaze drifted upwards again, studying the monitor in thought.

And McCoy watched, wondering what Spock was thinking behind that blank mask.

McCoy studied psychology – how the mind worked fascinated him, to coin a phrase. Yes, he was pretty damn sure he knew what kept Spock in Starfleet. If asked, he was also certain that Spock would give a logical – and true – answer. Probably say it was the best way to discover unknown science, or some such nonsense. Vulcans were a godsend to the science division of Starfleet, and Spock was practically revered for his skill. Starfleet would probably break its spine bending over backwards to keep Spock in the service on a ship of humans who – let's be honest – weren't so good at science. Spock wasn't exactly humble about it, either, and McCoy felt a constant urge to knock that damn ego of his down a peg or two.

But it wasn't a need for his talent that kept Spock in Starfleet.

Spock stayed because of friendship.

You didn't commit treason for a man you didn't care about, so it was plain as day that Spock cared about Christopher Pike. McCoy was willing to wager his oldest bottle of the good stuff that Spock had signed on for a second tour of duty because of Pike. And a third. Spock had never served on any other ship besides the Enterprise, turning down incredible opportunities in order to do so. Starfleet wasn't the only body of scientists that coveted Spock.

McCoy knew Spock had no taste for command, and presumably Pike had known that as well. McCoy suspected that Pike had seen command potential in Spock, for he named him as second officer, but that was apparently as far up in the chain of command that he'd been able to get Spock to climb. Until Jim came along, Spock had never even commanded his own mission. Unlike Jim, Pike hadn't insisted on getting his own way. But then James T. Kirk became captain of the Enterprise.

Unstoppable Force, please meet Immovable Object.

McCoy knew why Spock had let Jim talk him into advancing to first officer, no matter what either of them might claim.

The Enterprise had been the flagship since the day she was commissioned, but it wasn't until Jim became her captain that the ship really started to earn a name. The thought wasn't any kind of slight against Pike – the man was, by all accounts, an excellent captain. But it was as if Jim _attracted_ trouble. Barely a month could pass without some impossibly insane something going wrong. The crew was so used to it now that they would actually start to get edgy if too much time passed without incident.

McCoy hadn't been assigned to the Enterprise when Kirk took command, so he didn't know the details. And he wasn't going to ask. There couldn't be two people who were as completely opposites of each other as Kirk and Spock, but those two had hit it off instantly. As far as McCoy could tell, the only thing they really had in common was an incredible dedication to duty and a mutual respect for each others skills.

At least, at first.

Kirk was a soldier, with a soldier's mentality. But he thought longer now before acting.

Spock was a scientist, with a scientist's devotion to logic and fact. But…

McCoy had seen Spock abandon logic, seen him forsake his peaceful ethics, seen him disobey direct orders – all for the sake of an emotion that he refused to acknowledge. The Vulcan could calmly and logically dissect any one _else's_ emotional issues, blithely explaining the concept of love, but when it came to his own mind Spock had one _huge_ blind spot.

He was completely in denial.

Friendship was every bit as powerful as any other kind of love, and it was glaringly obvious to McCoy – to anyone – that Spock loved Jim very much. The fact that Jim returned the sentiment was not lost on Spock. The problem was that the Vulcan automatically suppressed the very notion of emotions. He had them, and he acted on them, but he constantly tried to convert everything he did and said into logic or duty. When he couldn't justify something that way, he considered it a failure.

A first officer's primary duty was to assist the captain. It would be his _duty_ to protect Jim, who insisted on leading most away teams and had an uncanny knack for attracting trouble - _usually_ through no fault of his own. If the captain was separated from the ship and Spock found himself in command, it would be his _duty_ to do everything possible to get him back. Being first officer guaranteed that the most logical, efficient means possible would be employed to do so.

McCoy smiled as he watched Spock watching Jim, for he knew Spock's secret. One of them, anyway. He knew what had finally tipped the scales to get Spock to move up in rank despite not wanting to command. It was emotion, pure and simple, and not just any emotion, either. McCoy's smile faded into a sad little frown. One of these days, something was going to snap.

Vulcan or not, you just couldn't keep that much emotion submerged forever. And the longer it took, the worse it was going to be. He'd never seen Spock lose control, but he knew it'd happened at least twice. Once was the incident with Riley locking himself in engineering and treating them all to repeated renditions of some horrible song. The other was when the entire crew had been infected by happy spores and abandoned ship.

No one had witnessed the events, so no one knew exactly what Jim had done to save the day. But McCoy knew it was more than what was in the official log.

Both times Jim had come to sickbay for treatment that he would otherwise have simply ignored. Superficial, really. McCoy hadn't asked. He wasn't blind, though - he knew it was because Jim knew damn well that Spock felt guilty as hell over it, and he just didn't want to visibly remind his supposedly unemotional friend of whatever had happened.

And that one time, when Spock had thought he'd killed Jim with his own hands, only to discover him alive and well?

Loss of control in the opposite direction.

McCoy hadn't been able to resist needling him about it, just a tiny bit, but on the whole that one emotion was something that McCoy never teased Spock about. Everything else under the sun was game, but not that. Not when he actually _showed_ it. Not showing it, well, that was a different thing. McCoy's mission in life had become to get Spock to acknowledge the value of emotions, and give up that damn Vulcan superiority complex. He didn't have to show emotion, just stop looking down on those who did.

Because one of these days, something was going to snap.

McCoy blinked, drawn out of his pensive musings as Spock reached for the chess board and picked up the castle. He returned it to where it was before, then put back Jim's horse as well before rising. He pushed the small table closer to the wall and out of the way, then stood there for a moment longer, contemplating his sleeping captain. McCoy sent up a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening, and smiled when Spock reached out to very carefully pick up Jim's wrist, dangling over the edge of the biobed, and set it gently on the mattress.

Spock turned to leave, then froze in his tracks when he saw McCoy.

The doctor made no effort to hide his smile and Spock drew himself up with pride, clearly expecting some kind of insult.

"Don't worry, Spock," McCoy drawled calmly. "Your secret's safe with me."

Spock stared at him for a very long moment, but McCoy was a damn good poker player, if he did say so himself. Spock dropped his gaze and swallowed, an unconscious gesture that McCoy wondered if the Vulcan knew existed. Spock glanced back at Jim before lifting his chin to meet McCoy's eyes again. He gave a short nod of acknowledgment, and then left sickbay without a word.

Well, it was a start.

**=(^)=**


	6. A Tense Situation

_**This is the last of my ST:TOS one-shots being moved to this file. 'Above and Beyond' shall remain for sentimental value (being my first), 'Transitions' shall eventually be combined with 'First Rook' and continued, and my muse has been toying with ruining their shore leave in 'Best of Both' by continuing it. My thanks to you all for bearing with me for these changes.  


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**_

**Historian's Note:** Set a couple weeks after 'The Corbomite Maneuver'.

**Author's Note: **In Mudd's Women (the 3rd episode produced), when Kirk finds the lovely lady sprawled on his bed, we can see that there is a chair next to his bed, against the wall. It is a plain, armless desk chair, not comfortable for reading or sitting idle for long periods. Kirk's cabin is a bit Spartan, and everything in it has a reason – he even says for canon at one point that he believes a person's room should speak about the occupant. There is absolutely _no reason_ for that chair to be there, and yet there it is, consistently in this place for most scenes shot in the captain's quarters throughout all three seasons. There are precious few things within the series that maintain this consistency. So I gave it a reason.

**WARNING:** These two men are physically comfortable with each other. Regardless of your school of thought, this is an inescapable, canonical fact – one that is established early on. I personally believe that Gene Roddenberry strived to introduce certain ideas in an era when such thinking was not looked upon favorably. A master at his chosen art, he slipped all sorts of things past the sensors of the time. As a result, Star Trek is credited with giving birth to the very concept of slash. Ah, but the true beauty and genius of Star Trek is that the watcher can see what he or she _chooses_ to see. Since there seems to be something of an over abundance of slash stories, however, I have chosen to write for the oft neglected minority. I have sought out the slashiest thing I can think of in the original series to pick on. This was written as a _non-slash_ prelude to the infamous backrub scene in 'Shore Leave', for no other reason than because I found it amusing to do so. I might fail in my goal, so be warned. (Though, if you want to take it as pre-slash, feel free to.)

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**=(^)= A Tense Situation =(^)=

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**

The past week had been positively grueling for the crew of the Starship Enterprise, and the morale of the humans aboard had been gradually descending into an abysmal low. The most recent mission was considered a success by Starfleet command, but the price for that victory had reduced the crew to a solemnity befitting Spock's home world. The Enterprise had returned to her mission of mapping the region, and one would think this activity sufficiently lacking in excitement to qualify as 'restful' and therefore improve the crew's temperament.

This was not so.

Spock stepped into the turbolift, a very slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. While he did not feel any personal need for shore leave, he was still disappointed that Starfleet had denied the captain's request to reassign another ship to this sector and allow the Enterprise a brief respite. It would be pleasant to meditate without the general air of miasma pervading the ship seeping into his mind.

He gave the computer his destination, then glanced down at the datapad in his hand and thumbed a button to scroll through the information. He had compiled the figures himself and did not need to read through it again. However, he found himself reorganizing the information in the order of priority that he believed his captain would prefer. The lift doors parted, and he touched a final key on the pad before heading down the corridor.

He arrived at Kirk's cabin, pressed the door chime, and waited politely for permission to enter. When none came, he hesitated. The recent deaths sustained by the crew weighed heavily on the captain, and Spock believed he needed rest more than anyone else. He was disinclined to disturb him, but he had been ordered to deliver the data as soon as it was available and so he reluctantly pressed the chime again. There was still no answer, and he considered the possibility that the captain has left his quarters. Even as the thought occurred to him, however, he felt a twinge of unease accompanied by a fleeting concern.

There was a time, not very long ago, when he would have simply ignored the sensation. It was the captain himself who kept encouraging him to cease that practice. And so, with a great deal of misgiving, he touched the pad to open the door despite not having been granted permission. It was not locked – it seldom was - and hissed open. He entered hesitantly and turned his head as the door closed behind him, scanning the cabin.

"Captain?" he called in a neutral tone.

There was still no answer, and Spock began to feel foolish. But the odd flutter of concern would not leave him, and only increased in intensity when his eyes passed the only part of the cabin that was not readily visible. Lavatories did not have entry request chimes, and so he rapped his knuckles lightly on the door's frame in the human practice. There was no answer, and Spock began to relax. He concluded the mood of the crew was causing him adverse sensations of unease.

Ever one for thoroughness, he triggered the door's proximity sensor even as he resolved to ignore illogical impulses in the future. Spock's head turned aside even before his eyes finished relaying their information, but then his brain caught up. He had to suppress a surge of alarm, for his captain lay in the bathtub with one arm draped over the edge and the water lapping dangerously at his chin. He was either asleep or unconscious.

Spock's hand darted out to keep the door from closing, but he quickly turned to put his back to the wall. He stared straight ahead at the opposite side of the cabin. "Captain." There was no answer, and Spock's concern grew. He raised his voice. "_Captain_." There was a gasp of surprise and a sudden splash of water. The sound of sputtering and coughing nearly drew Spock to his aid, but indecision rooted him to the spot.

"Who's there?" the captain demanded, and Spock heard the unmistakable sounds of Kirk climbing out of the bathtub.

"Spock," he answered. He was compelled to add, "You requested that I bring the planetary survey data as soon as it was completed…"

"S'okay," Kirk muttered, a very slight slur to his words. "Hang on."

"Yes, sir," Spock answered and removed his hand. The door slid closed, and Spock devoutly hoped that his captain would not emerge until he was at least marginally clothed. He would not go so far as to term Kirk an exhibitionist, but they definitely had different standards of modesty. Spock crossed to the center of the cabin and stood patiently beside the desk.

The door opened shortly and Kirk was toweling his hair dry as he entered the living quarters. He was shirtless, but thankfully wearing soft grey pants that appeared to be sleep attire. "Sorry," Kirk said, stifling a yawn and draping the damp towel across his bare shoulders. "I took some of those little red pills McCoy's been trying to push on me, and I guess I dozed off."

Spock tilted his head in disbelief at his captain. "You took sleep medication prior to submerging yourself in a water bath?"

Kirk opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at the lavatory door before giving Spock a mildly embarrassed smile. "I suppose that wasn't the… smartest thing to do."

"No, sir," Spock agreed dryly.

Kirk snorted and held his hand out for the datapad. "I didn't realize they were that strong," he said as Spock passed it to him.

"The planet is marginally class M, sir," Spock began as Kirk rubbed absently at the back of his neck and scrolled through the information. "There does not appear to be any sentient life forms. Sensors detect several minerals in sufficient abundance to warrant the construction of an extraction facility."

A corner of Kirk's mouth twitched, and Spock was beginning to suspect that the captain occasionally found his speech patterns amusing. "Well," he said after a moment. "It certainly looks promising. Go ahead and set up survey teams when the final readings are in." He paused to lift one shoulder with a tilt of his head. There was an audible sound as the joint flexed and Kirk made a small sound of relief. "Have McCoy lead one of them. Get him out of my hair for a little while."

Kirk handed the datapad back, a clear dismissal, and yet Spock hesitated. Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Something else, Mister Spock?"

Concern won out over reluctance. "Captain, I believe you should have your difficulty seen to in sickbay."

"No," Kirk said with a sigh. He further disrupted his hair by running a hand through it in a gesture of frustration. "I know he means well, but I'm getting tired of Bones nagging me — I'm not about to give him any more ammunition. Besides," he added with a wry twist of his mouth, "he makes for a terrible masseuse."

"Perhaps one of the nurses…" Spock suggested hesitantly, but let the sentence trail off unfinished when Kirk let out a derisive snort.

"Out of the question," he answered. He shook his head and gave a short laugh, but Spock did not know what he found so amusing. With the exception of the chief medical officer, all of the staff were quite professional. "Spock, I'm fine." There must have been some measure of doubt on Spock's face that he was unaware of, for Kirk gave a resigned sigh. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to go to sickbay for muscle ache?"

Spock considered the question.

"What if _you_ had a sore muscle?" he persisted. "Are you honestly going to tell me you'd go and have McCoy or one of the nurses massage it out? Which is pretty much the only way to get rid of it, despite modern medicine."

"I concede that I would find that idea… distasteful," Spock admitted reluctantly.

"There, you see?" Kirk said in triumph.

"Yeoman Rand is—"

Kirk interrupted with an impatient scowl. "Spock, it's not an option, all right? There are just too many ways to, uh… misinterpret such a request. I'm fine. Don't you start nagging me, too."

"Captain…" The sentence faltered as Kirk leveled a glare at him. Spock bowed his head in mute apology, realizing he had overstepped an invisible boundary.

Kirk sighed, and Spock looked up at the sound for he did not know what had prompted the distinct note of defeat. "Spock…" he said tiredly, lifting one hand to rub against his forehead as if trying to ease a headache. "It's just that he won't let up," his captain confessed in a sudden burst of anger. He dropped his hand to his side with a frustrated slap against his leg. "And I _don't_ want to talk about it."

Spock's brows furrowed slightly as he tried to follow his captain's reasoning, and realized that McCoy must be attempting to follow standard procedure and convince Kirk to discuss their most recent mission. Three members of the crew had perished, and the captain himself had been injured. Neither the crew nor Starfleet held the captain responsible for those deaths, but Spock knew that Kirk nevertheless blamed himself. The remaining two members of the landing party had been rescued and their mission had been completed, but those facts did not seem to be any consolation.

Although Spock did not think it wise to allow emotion to affect ones health, Spock understood that Kirk's devotion to his crew, and his sincere remorse at any loss, was one of the qualities that made the crew of the Enterprise so loyal to him. But the ship's chief medical officer was still adjusting to his new assignment had not yet fully learned that James T. Kirk was not always prone to following standard procedure.

"You are avoiding medical treatment because you are avoiding Doctor McCoy?" Spock clarified carefully.

Kirk held up both hands as if he was physically trying to contain his irritation. "It's just a backache. I'm not bleeding to death."

Spock was now quite certain that the captain's discomfort was contributing to a lack of sleep, which in turn increased the man's irritability, which in turn prompted Kirk to stubbornly insist on avoiding McCoy. The captain was always reluctant to admit to any need for assistance — indeed, it was detrimental for the crew to perceive him as needing any. It was the first officer's duty to help maintain that aura of invulnerability, as illogical as that illusion was. It was also the first officer's duty to see to the safety and health of the captain. Obviously, McCoy's efforts at persuasion had not proven effective in that regard. In fact, it would seem that the doctor's determination had the reverse of the desired effect.

Spock's fingers curled uneasily around the datapad. "I am not unskilled in the technique," he volunteered quietly.

Kirk took a full three seconds to process this statement.

"Spock… are you offering me a… a _backrub_?" he asked, a great deal of disbelief in his voice.

"I am aware of the concepts humans associate with this action," Spock answered calmly, drawing himself up straighter with dignity. "However, I can assure you that I will not construe any impropriety. It is a matter that you are not able to attend to yourself. Since I am aware of the situation, and have the ability to remedy it, it is logical for me to do so."

Kirk stared at him. "Logical?"

"I believe it to be an eminently sensible solution." A pointed glance towards the lavatory door and a raised eyebrow seemed to be enough to convey a tactful reminder of less successful endeavors.

In response, some of the annoyance seemed to drain out of the captain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other with some agitation. "Yes… very, uh… logical," Kirk said finally and sighed. "You… wouldn't mind?" he asked hesitantly.

Spock released a slow breath. "Jim, it is either that, or I shall inform McCoy myself. The well being of the captain of the ship is one of my primary duties."

"Yes, I believe you _would_ rat me out," Kirk said. Despite the somewhat hostile words, the tone was one of fondness and Spock took that as assent.

There was an awkward, drawn out moment in which Kirk was apparently unsure how to begin. Spock made a gesture towards the bed, which was the only flat surface other than the floor that was conducive to the purpose. Kirk sighed with resignation, pulling the towel from around his neck as he crossed the room and tossed it into the laundry chute. The bed was unmade, evidence of his failed attempts at sleep. Rather than lay atop the rumpled blanket, he simply pushed it off onto the floor before stretching out on his stomach. He crossed his arms on the pillow and rested his chin on them.

Spock judged the bed to be too low to remain standing, so he set the datapad on the desk and brought one of the chairs with him. Once seated, he took a moment to brace his mental shielding. It was as he surveyed the expanse of flesh laid out before him that he experienced his first qualm. Kirk stood below the average height of human males, but he was a well muscled and compact being. He was stronger than the average for his species, and this task would require more strength than had ever been needed for Mother.

Kirk craned his neck to look at him over his shoulder. "If you want to change your mind…"

Spock shook his head. "I am simply not certain where to begin," he replied.

"Well," Kirk said, and lifted an arm over his head to tap his fingers below his right shoulder. "The only one really giving me trouble is—" he broke off with a startled gasp as the muscle in question visibly knotted. This was undoubtedly due to the very awkward position he was laying in. He instantly moved to correct this, stretching his arm in an attempt to relieve the cramp.

He had rolled half way onto his side before Spock decided that he would only make the matter worse.

Kirk's breath rushed out with a soft woof of surprise as Spock pressed him firmly to the mattress with one hand between his shoulder blades, and with the other worked at the offending muscle. He let out a low hiss and Spock further reinforced his shielding as pain filtered through. Kirk was attempting to lie still, but could not stop himself from jerking away, and Spock had to add more pressure to keep him immobile. The stubbornly contracted muscle finally relaxed, and Kirk sucked in a sudden breath when he was released. The force required had rendered him unable to breathe.

"My apologies for the discomfort," Spock said softly, very much discouraged. He placed his hands in his lap as he realized that his original intentions would not be effective.

Kirk took another deep breath before looking over his shoulder again. "That has been torturing me for three days now. Thank you," he said, and let out a sigh of relief.

Spock could feel his features moving into a slight frown, but he did not prevent it. "You should have seen McCoy long before now," he admonished.

Kirk had folded his arms under his chin again, and waved a hand loosely at Spock. "Well, hot baths have always taken care of it," he said with a shrug.

Spock wondered how many times his captain had risked drowning for the sake of his pride. He debated the best way to convince him to go to sickbay, for he had no doubt that other muscles were in need of the same attention.

"Anyway," Kirk said, interrupting his train of thought. "That was the worst of it, so you can consider your duty discharged."

The numbers floated into his mind without any conscious effort. "The odds of convincing you to go to sickbay are two hundred sixty five to one. Against."

Kirk blinked at him. "Well, I don't need to now. I thought that was the whole point."

"Three hundred ninety eight to one…" Spock amended almost absently. Kirk chuckled, a low, tired sound, as Spock mustered one more bid for reason. "My experience is limited, Captain. I am not certain it would be wise for me to continue. I advise you to seek professional assistance."

Kirk shook his head. "I think you did just fine, and that really was the worst of it. I'm all right — go find something useful to do," he said with a smile.

Spock remained seated. "It will be some time before the probes and sensor sweeps have completed and compiled the scans of the planet and its system. If you are not adverse to it, I find this to be a productive use of my time." There was no point in debating with the man when he got his mind truly set on a course of action. There were those who would argue that this was one of Kirk's greatest strengths, but Spock privately believed it was also one of his greatest weaknesses.

"Adverse to it? No… no, I have to admit," Kirk said, almost reluctantly. "It'd be nice to be able to sleep without my back giving me hell."

Spock nodded in acknowledgment as Kirk turned away to rest his chin on his folded arms and Spock quietly resumed his task. Spock's touch was light at first, but it quickly became evident that his original suspicion that Kirk would require unusual strength was proven true. Kirk tried not to show his discomfort, but the problem had been left untreated far too long. Spock strongly suspected that Kirk had spent some time in his formative years on a heavy gravity world, and began to understand why the captain might choose to simply avoid the issue. This was not aided by an air of awkward tension, but the Vulcan was nothing but professional about the matter and Kirk gradually relaxed until the medication in his system began to make its presence known once again. His eyes drifted closed.

After a while, Kirk sighed and muttered sleepily, "Where in the world did you learn how to do this?"

Spock paused in his ministrations. He rarely spoke of Vulcan, and even less of his family. The nature of his father's work often required that he leave his family at home, but Mother invariably worried about him and found the absence a strain. There were precious few things that Spock and Sarek of Vulcan agreed upon, but one of those things was an unspoken protectiveness of a human woman living on a world that was not suited for her species. She had adapted remarkably well to the heat, but the air was too arid and thin, and the gravity heavier.

As a growing child, it had been necessary for Spock to have certain environmental settings that made it impossible for their home to be kept at what would have been more comfortable for her. She never complained, but it took a toll upon her. A Vulcan healer was employed by Sarek, an aged woman that had served the family of S'chn T'gai for many years. She had tended to Mother's muscle aches, but there came a day when T'para had been unavailable and rather than request a stranger, Mother had preferred to do without.

Spock had offered.

Mother had declined, and Spock, with the flawless reasoning of a naive child, had proceeded to explain to her the logic of the situation. Mother had not been able to refute that logic without explaining human customs that were, frankly, illogical. And so she had relented, despite her misgivings.

Vulcans, a species that was telepathic through touch, generally avoided physical contact on an instinctive level. This was the reverse of humans, who required meaningful touch to maintain good health. Spock had not understood it at the time, but in later years he had come to realize that this was a basic human need that Amanda Grayson often lived without. And although Spock was Vulcan, with the aversion to touch that Vulcans shared, he was also human. In the depths of meditation, when the truth is separated from emotion and culture and laid bare, Spock acknowledged that he, too, needed touch. A minuscule amount, in comparison to humans, but still a necessity all the same. All he had known at the time was that, despite his lack of training, Mother found his efforts beneficial. T'Para was an excellent healer and far more capable, but Mother gradually had less need of her skills. Before long it became a chore that Spock very, very privately treasured.

Mother.

His last visit to Vulcan had been almost three years ago, prior to Kirk assuming command. Spock had taken a teaching post at the academy while the Enterprise underwent an extensive refit, for the ship had become something of a home to him over the thirteen years he had served aboard her and he'd had no wish to leave. Mother had been upset by Spock's abrupt departure after having only been there a few hours. Thinking of the estrangement between himself and his father awakened a painful emotion that Spock had managed to force into submission. He crushed it now.

He did not wish to answer his captain's question.

He realized suddenly that he did not have to. During his moment of introspection, Kirk's breathing had evened out, and he had clearly fallen asleep. The medication would no doubt keep his captain asleep for some time, unless something required his attention. Kirk did not stir as Spock rose and returned the chair to its place in front of the desk.

Spock hesitated at the threshold of the door, and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes drifted to the crumpled bedspread puddled on the floor, then back up to his captain's half dressed form sprawled across the bed. Spock returned and stood still in thought for a long moment before bending to retrieve the blanket and draw it over him.

Spock froze as Kirk shifted onto his side and blinked up at him. "Than's Spo…" he murmured, barely coherent and not even finishing the sentence before falling back into the depths of drug induced slumber.

"You are welcome, sir," Spock replied, though he did not think Kirk would hear him.

Spock dimmed the lights and left the cabin, and thus began what would become a lifelong practice. The stress of duty would sometimes wear upon the captain and Spock could not fail to note the symptoms. Kirk objected at first, but quickly became accustomed to the idea. Spock was certain that McCoy noticed both the third chair that took up residence in the captain's quarters as well as the improved lack of tension, but the doctor surprisingly never commented on the matter.

It was not for several months that Spock became aware of the rumors.

The first officer of the Enterprise and the ship's senior helmsman had an understanding, of sorts. Spock, by his nature, was not particularly approachable. Yet it was his duty as second in command to ensure the ship ran at optimum efficiency – and while morale fell under the purview of the medical division, it was still his responsibility to be aware of the general mood of the crew. This included the highly illogical and distasteful habit called gossip that humans regularly engaged in.

It was a peculiar system the Enterprise used, but one that seemed to work well. Sulu knew everything, and used his own discretion when deciding if something was worth Spock's attention. Very little was, and the passing of information was discrete. Sulu felt no guilt in the matter, for quite often his mentioning a subject was more a request than a report. It was one of the first things a new transfer learned when signing aboard: if the captain or first officer became aware of an activity, action would be needed. But if one told Sulu, then the captain and first officer could conveniently not notice certain things or else the issue would have a chance to quietly disappear before it became a matter of record.

It had taken some time for Spock to accept the situation, but James T. Kirk tolerated a wide range of illicit activities aboard his ship so long as he was able to monitor them. Spock, therefore, was obliged to accept them as well.

There was a still in operation in a seldom used access corridor that produced a startling amount of alcohol of dubious quality. Spock was reasonably certain this was maintained by Mister Scott, but Sulu would not confirm it. There were several small pets of various species residing aboard the Enterprise. There was a rather voracious plant of questionable parentage consuming a sizable portion of Ensign Ingleton's daily replicator allotment.

But it had been with some reluctance that Mister Sulu had finally brought a certain rumor to Spock's attention.

Spock had quite calmly informed Mister Sulu that he and the captain were not engaged in sexual activities, and had watched, fascinated, as the helmsman's face had turned several shades of crimson before hastily taking his leave. Despite Sulu's best efforts to correct it, however, the rumor persisted. Spock had at first been concerned about this, until Sulu eventually admitted that there were, in fact, several rumors, involving all of the command crew. There were even some that claimed Spock and McCoy were secret lovers. Spock had greeted this statement with open disbelief.

It was, it would seem, a common human affliction, and Spock concluded that he would not waste the captain's time with the matter. Kirk's natural behavior did little to dissuade those who were bent on such beliefs, and so Spock simply accepted the situation with the reserve that only a Vulcan could. McCoy had his own sources in the rumor mill, and was no doubt aware of the debate, but for once kept his opinion to himself. Spock found this extremely surprising, for he had fully expected the doctor to indulge in the practice known as teasing.

Somehow, Kirk remained utterly oblivious.

The Enterprise quickly became something akin to legend, and their success was attributed to the close friendships of her command officers. But none were closer than the captain and the first officer, and one could not speak of the fame of the Enterprise without speaking of Kirk and Spock.

And so the rumor spread throughout the fleet, until eventually it, too, became legend.

**=(^)=**


	7. Life is but a Game

**Author's Note:** I am such a geek, sorry.

* * *

**=(^)= Life is but a Game =(^)=**

**

* * *

**

He pressed a hand to the transparent aluminum that separated him from the vacuum of space. It was cold against his palm, leeching heat from him, but he ignored it. He tilted his head, and from this perspective it looked as though he was touching the ship. An illusion, he knew, a flaw in how the brain judged distance. He smiled, enjoying the flaw as he traced the length of one long nacelle. He drew his finger along the slender spine of the body, up along the neck, across the wide saucer of the primary hull.

She was a living thing. She was a glorious steed, neck stretched out eagerly, boldly holding her head high, wings extended out and above her as though frozen in a perpetual motion of flight. She was perfection, angles and curves blended with a staggering precision that combined an impression of both power and vulnerability.

She was a queen. His queen. He supposed that would make him the king. Some might take that as an arrogant thought, but it wasn't. In the game, the king was the most useless of pieces. The most important, certainly… but the most useless. It was the least powerful, its movements restricted by duty and regulations. It was meant to be guarded, protected. Foolish indeed to risk the king unless absolutely needed, for it only made the task of the other pieces all the more difficult. And the game ended when the other pieces failed. But a well-played match used all the pieces to their fullest ability, and changing the rules of the game had become something of a specialty.

If she was the queen, and he was the king, then Spock and McCoy… His two closest friends, they would be the rooks. They were as far apart on the board as they could get and still be on the same team, yet capable of working together to become more powerful than the queen. Sulu and Uhura, calm, level headed, straight forward, were the bishops. Scott and Chekov – both brilliant, passionate, loyal to a fault, often leaping before thinking, were the knights of the game.

An array of eight, perfectly balanced, with the universe as the playing field.

Others considered the pawns as the least valued. But it was the pawns, and only the pawns, that could reclaim a captured piece… and as far as he was concerned that made them perhaps the most precious of all. It was not possible to play the game without sacrificing pieces, but it was less painful to do so if he knew he had a chance to get them back. But the pawns… they never came back. What they lacked in rank was made up for in numbers.

Life, of course, was not a game. In the game, each encounter was wiped clean and reset at the end, all the pieces put back unharmed.

Still…

**=(^)=**


End file.
